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COPYRIGHT,  1893, 
BY  T.  Y.  CROWELL  &  CO. 


NorfoooU 
J.  S.  CuBhing  &  Co.  -  Berwick  &  Smith. 
Boston,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


"PS 


Each  solemn  sweet  truth 

Is  indited  to  thee, 
Dear  playmate  of  youth, 

Who  a-perch  on  my  knee 
Heard  me  proudly  rehearse  — 

With  a  kiss  for  a  dash  — 
From  my  first  callow  verse ;  — 

Heard  the  far  billows  plash 
To  our.  nest  in  the  East, 

Where  we  learned  from  the  doves 
How  to  chant,  like  a  priest, 

At  the  shrine  of  our  loves. 

Each  dainty  light  thought 

I  have  written  for  thee, 
O  little  one  brought 

Like  a  pearl  from  the  sea ; 
Who  lay  in  a  basket 

Rose-blown  to  the  South, 
While  rhymes  in  a  casket 

Were  caught  from  thy  mouth. 
Should  after-years  query, 

My  laurel  of  fame 
Shall  rest  with  thee,  dearie, 

Who  bearest  my  name. 


PREFACE. 


In  "East  and  West"  I  have  endeavored  to  condense 
my  experiences  of  two  hemispheres,  and  my  study  of  their 
history.  The  synthesis  of  two  continental  civilizations, 
matured  apart  through  fifteen  hundred  years,  will  mark 
this  close  of  our  century  as  an  unique  dramatic  epoch  in 
human  affairs.  At  the  end  of  a  great  cycle  the  two  halves 
of  the  world  come  together  for  the  final  creation  of  man. 

This  union  was  foreshadowed  two  thousand  years  ago 
in  the  swift  career  of  Alexander  the  Great,  when,  at  a 
blow,  he  brought  the  arts  of  Greece  face  to  face  with  the 
mystical  thought  of  India.  In  the  Hellenic  kingdoms  the 
ancient  types  of  East  and  West  were  mingled  to  the  point 
of  a  vital  exchange  of  faculty.  But,  with  the  decrepi- 
tude of  the  Roman  Empire,  Europe  and  Asia,  bearing  in 
their  bosoms  this  pledge  of  plighted  troth,  withdrew  into 
that  long  seclusion  the  barriers  of  which  should  not  be 
broken  until  the  might  of  invention  could  go  hand  in  hand 
with  sympathy. 

Eastern  culture,  slowly  elaborated,  has  held  to  ideals 
whose  refinement  seems  markedly  feminine.  For  it  social 


vi  PREFACE. 

institutions  are  the  positive  harmonies  of  a  life  of  brother- 
hood. Western  culture,  on  the  contrary,  has  held  to  ideals 
whose  strength  seems  markedly  masculine.  For  it  law  is 
the  compromise  of  Liberty  with  her  own  excesses,  while 
conquest,  science,  and  industry  are  but  parallel  channels  for 
the  overflow  of  hungry  personality. 

But  this  one-sidedness  has  been  partly  compensated  by 
the  religious  life  of  each.  The  violence  of  the  West  has 
been  softened  by  the  feminine  faith  of  love,  renunciation, 
obedience,  salvation  from  without.  It  is  the  very  imper- 
sonality of  her  great  ecclesiastical  institute  which  offers  to 
man  a  refuge  from  self.  On  the  other  hand,  the  peaceful 
impotence  of  the  East  has  been  spurred  by  her  martial 
faith  of  spiritual  knighthood,  self-reliance,  salvation  from 
within.  The  intense  individuality  of  her  esoteric  discipline 
upholds  the  fertile  tranquillity  of  her  surface.  This  stupen- 
dous double  antithesis  seems  to  me  the  most  significant  fact 
in  all  history.  The  future  union  of  the  types  may  thus  be 
symbolized  as  a  twofold  marriage. 

Meanwhile  the  first  attempts  to  assimilate  alien  ideals 
have  led  to  the  irony  of  a  quadruple  confusion,  analogous 
to  the  disruption  of  Alexander's  conquest.  But  our  genuine 
interest  in  music  predicts  our  native  power  to  compass  a 
profounder  integration.  Within  the  coming  century  the 
blended  strength  of  Scientific  Analysis  and  Spiritual  Wis- 
dom should  wed  for  eternity  the  blended  grace  of  Esthetic 
Synthesis  and  Spiritual  Love. 

In  "  The  Discovery  of  America "  I  was  governed  by  two 
aims:  one,  to  expand  the  resources  of  poetic  art  by  the 


PREFACE.  vii 

inspiring  analogies  of  music;  the  other,  to  exhibit  the 
steadfast  idealism  of  Columbus  as  the  medium  through 
which  overshadowing  Spirit  achieved  its  sublime  purpose 
of  uniting  the  East  and  the  West.  To-day  his  triumphant 
caravels  have  met  the  ambassadors  of  Xipangu  on  the  shores 
of  Lake  Michigan. 

Steadfast  as  he,  I  cling  to  the  faith  that  a  frank  recognition 
of  the  great,  illuminating,  spiritual  verities,  realized  by  the 
vivid  flash  of  the  imagination,  is,  and  has  been  always,  in  art 
the  only  profound  realism. 

ERNEST  FRANCISCO  FENOLLOSA. 
BOSTON,  October  15, 1893. 


CONTENTS. 


EAST  AND   WEST. 

PAGE 

PART      I.    The  First  Meeting  of  East  and  West    .         .  3 

PART     II.    The  Separated  East 14 

PART  III.    The  Separated  West     .        .        .        .        .  29 

PART    IV.    The  Present  Meeting  of  East  and  West        .  39 

PART     V.    The  Future  Union  of  East  and  West    .        .  48 

MINOR  POEMS. 

PASTORAL 59 

DECEMBER 60 

THE  HOUR 61 

REQUIEM 62 

THE  DRYAD 63 

ON  OPENING  AN  ALBUM 64 

THE  SOUL  QUESTIONS 66 

THE  GOLDEN  AGE .68 

THE  SNOWDROP 71 

-LOVE'S  YOUTH 72 

SONNET:  MY  PERFECT  TRUTH       .        .        .  74 

SONNET:   MY  SACRIFICE -75 

SONNET:   FUJI  AT  SUNRISE 76 

ix 


*  CONTENTS. 

MINOR   POEMS  —  continued. 

PAGE 

SONNET:   HER  LOVE      .......  77 

REPROACH       ........  ~g 

THE  WOOD-DOVE   .....  gx 

SEPTEMBER  - 


NEW  YEAR'S  EVE,  1875         ......      85 

GOD'S  FORESTS 

y\j 

LOVE  AND  Music  .        .  .        .  .        .95 

AT  HER  TOMB       ........  9g 

TELEPATHY     .        .        .        .        .....  I00 

REVERIE         .........  103 

IN  THE  AURA         ........  I0^ 

SONG  OF  THE  WIND      .......  I07 

THE  CAPTIVE  .........  II2 

KARMA    ..........  II4 

MAYA      ..........  II7 

MAYTIME        ........  I22 

WITH  DEATH         ........  I25 

SPRING  BREATH      .....        .        .        .128 

IN  NORWAY 


THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA.    A  SYMPHONIC  POEM. 

FIRST  MOVEMENT:  The  Sea  and  the  Sky  .  .  .137 
SECOND  MOVEMENT:  Dreams  .  .  .  .151 
THIRD  MOVEMENT:  Wedding  Music  .  .  .  .169 
FOURTH  MOVEMENT:  Triumph 185 


EAST  AND   WEST 

A    POEM  DELIVERED  BEFORE    THE   PHI  BETA    KAPPA 
SOCIETY  AT  HARVARD   UNIVERSITY 

JUNE  jo,  1892 


EAST   AND   WEST. 


PART   I. 
W$z  JFirgt  JHeetittfl  of  lEagt  ant 

YET  once  again  discordant  trumpets  blare 
To  mar  the  music  of  the  hemispheres. 

So  heard  the  ancient  world  a  cry  of  doom, 
Of  agony  which  blossomed  into  prayer, 
And  saw  the  laden  treasuries  of  years 
Spilled  on  the  flaming  altar  of  her  tomb. 


Fragrant  the  memory  of  Arcadian  flutes, 

And  shepherds'  dance  in  groves  whose  Orphic  lutes 

Flood  space  with  tune  ;  of  Jove's  Olympian  plains 

Where  strive  earth's  naked  gods  ;  and  gilded  fanes 

Carving  warm  outline  from  Corinthian  skies  ; 

Or  cool  Castalian  depths  where  mystery  lies  ; 

Or  the  broad  terraces  of  Parthenon 

Crowned  with  the  sunflash  from  the  virgin's  shield, 

Whose  proud  chivalric  bloom  of  Attic  field 

In  dance  of  throbbing  marbles  surges  on 

3 


EAST  AND    WEST. 

As  Phidias  dreamed,  that  prince  of  centuries 
On  his  immortal  throne,  Acropolis. 

And  aromatic  music  yet  distils 
In  languid  drops  through  soil  of  Indian  lore, 
Echoes  which  cling  like  moss  to  temple  floor  :  — 
The  tinkling  bell  of  Aryan  upland  kine 
Calling  to  prayer  the  herdsman,  nature's  priest ; 
And  that  great  martial  pageant  of  the  East 
Where  Krishna  preached  of  peace  ;  and  palaces 
Of  Sakyan  kings  upon  a  hundred  hills 
Fringing  the  skirts  of  Ganges  —  sacred  foam 
Wherein  the  Brahmin  bathes  —  till  Ocean's  brine 
Swallows  her  floods  of  prayer ;  the  rock-hewn  dome 
Hung  with  blue  veils  of  incense,  and  gray  stones 
Where  weeping  saints  lay  the  last  Buddha's  bones. 

Perchance  these  two  sweet  songs  took  soul  and  shape 
One  evening  when  the  low  sun  held  his  breath, 
And  Nature,  pausing  as  at  thought  of  death, 
Played  with  her  folded  canopy  of  crepe. 
Then  the  delirious  waves  which  flood  the  halls 
Of  Time  subsided  ;  and,  with  vision  clear, 
Floating  as  in  a  crystal  atmosphere, 
Two  winged  spirits  spake  at  intervals  :  — 

"  Mark  how  the  shuttles  of  the  falling  stars 
Weave  golden  fabrics  on  the  warp  of  earth  ! 
How  their  soft  patterns  swing 


EAST  AND    WEST.  5 

Like  birds  upon  the  wing  ;  — 

Of  our  fair  faces  mirrors,  as  a  brook 

Wherein  two  lovers  look  ! 

How  plastic  universes  wax  and  wane, 

Tangles  of  Brahma's  skein, 

Where  rainbow  thoughts  come  flushing  to  the  birth, 

And  the  pale  gold  of  Venus  melts  in  the  blaze  of  Mars  !  " 

"  Spirit  of  Beauty,  see 

Thy  crown  transferred  to  me, 

The  heritage  of  Western  orbs  which  sink 

Beyond  Olympus'  brink ;  — 

Through  the  long  night  which  shuts  upon  the  world 

A  downy  seedling  curled 

In  thy  rich  soil  thick  sown  with  shattered  gods  ; 

But  as  a  pale  white  blossom 

Nursed  in  the  fragrant  moisture  of  this  bosom, 

From  which  again  shall  start 

The  tender  shoots  of  Art, 

Fresh  fronds  of  perfect  curve  like  ends  of  tunes, 

And  groves  of  graceful  palms  to  fleck  our  sods 

With  the  long  shadows  of  the  Eastern  moons." 

"  Soul  of  the  East,  I  kneel 

Thine  inmost  mood  to  feel. 

Heart,  as  of  woman,  wet 

With  the  first  dews  of  nature's  morning  dream, 

Here  on  this  cold  hard  brow  in  mercy  set 

Thy  sacred  touch,  and  break 


EAST  AND    WEST. 

This  chain  of  sparkling  jewels  which  I  deem 

A  bond  upon  my  soul ;  and  in  thy  lake 

Of  childlike  self-unfolding  consciousness 

Baptize  my  soul  with  floods  of  sweet  distress. 

Show  me  reflected  shades  of  sacrifice, 

And  opal  tints  of  pity,  and  cloud  forms 

Of  unimagined  aspiration  piled 

Against  the  enamelled  blue  of  earthly  aim, 

And  powers  without  a  name 

Which  the  calm  pilot  of  the  soul  enjoys 

When  in  salt  wash  of  seething  currents  wild 

He  steers  new  worlds  through  elemental  storms." 

"  So  may  our  spirits  for  a  moment  float 

As  in  a  new-built  boat ; 

Clasping  each  other 

With  the  warm  love  of  sister  and  of  brother, 

Breathing  fresh  life  together 

From  every  blast  of  Jove-distracted  weather. 

For  now  the  future  glows 

With  the  rich  promise  of  Aurora's  bows. 

Now  we  can  see  all  sin 

And  pain  but  as  the  flesh  we  struggle  in  j 

Let  perish  pleasure's  sloth, 

And  cherish  pangs  of  growth, 

And  folding  hands  in  prayer 

Welcome  the  futile  tortures  of  despair :  — 

For  the  great  plan  of  universal  Law 

We  gaze  upon  with  awe. 


EAST  AND    WEST.  7 

Yet  is  the  moment  done. 

Black  is  the  buried  sun. 

One  kiss  before  we  part, 

And  in  the  hurried  mingling  of  our  breath 

Transmit  the  seed  that  shall  not  surfer  death; 

In  tear-wet  patience  of  a  lonely  heart 

Each  in  his  separate  soil 

To  plant  and  water  with  long  ages'  toil; 

Until  again  perhaps 

Thousands  of  years  shall  lapse, 

And  in  some  second  focus  of  God's  will, 

When  the  long  night  of  cataclysm  ceases 

And  worn-out  worlds  have  torn  themselves  in  pieces, 

In  some  sweet  dawn  which  dissipates  that  ill 

We  shall  bring  forth  the  pure  and  ripened  flower 

Conceived  in  this  sweet  hour. 

"  Yet  now  harsh  horns  begin 

To  rasp  in  din. 

And  all  the  world  grows  black 

With  gathering  shadows  of  the  coming  wrack. 

Away !     Farewell ! 

And  now  unleash  the  murderous  hounds  of  hell !  " 


Reclining  on  his  roof  in  Macedon, 

The  youthful  Alexander 

Heard  a  loud  cry,  and  from  the  Eastern  ocean 

Saw  cloud-shapes  leap  like  warriors  in  commotion, 


EAST  AND    WEST. 

And  lightning  shafts  hurled  swift  as  bolts  of  battle, 
And  scouts  of  flying  scud  which  hurried  on 
The  rising  tumult  of  the  thunder's  rattle. 
And  in  the  bosom  of  the  young  commander 
A  flame  leaped  up,  as  if  a  star  had  broken 
And  in  a  molten  mass  its  contents  poured 
Through  the  dilating  chambers  of  his  heart; 
While,  Fate's  grim  message  eager  to  impart, 
Quick  hissing  in  his  ears  Ambition  roared :  — 

"  Darling  of  destiny !  prince  of  the  ages ! 

Jove-dowered  paragon !  nursling  of  sages ! 

Sword  of  the  universe !  moulder  of  races ! 

Welder  of  hemispheres !  forger  of  spaces ! 
Rise,  O  arise,  for  they  fight  in  the  skies, 
And  the  chargers  of  demons  have  blood  in  their  eyes, 
And  the  captains  of  light,  and  the  cohorts  of  shades 
Are  pricking  the  kings  of  the  world  with  their  blades 
To  yield  thee  the  wealth  of  their  crowns  as  a  prize !  " 

Thus  was  the  signal  of  the  furies  spoken. 


At  Issus,  after  fateful  Granicus, 

In  rival  lines  paused  Greek  and  Persian  hosts. 

But  high  in  upper  strata  of  the  air, 

Tossing  in  wild  disorder,  mutinous, 

Like  the  torn  fringes  of  a  Typhon's  hair, 

Lay  two  o'ershadowing  armaments  of  ghosts, 

Mighty  contingents  from  all  unseen  spheres. 


EAST  AND    WEST.  g 

The  morning  sun  lit  up  their  ranks  of  spears 

With  myriad  flashes,  like  magnetic  glances 

Shot  from  arched  forests  of  auroral  lances. 

But  their  tumultuous  rings  were  held  in  curb 

By  two  archangels,  arrogant,  superb, 

Fierce  spirits  of  the  elemental  fire 

Who  sped  on  eager  wing  at  Jove's  desire 

Down  from  the  parching  dust  of  Martian  fields 

To  plan  fresh  woes  for  this  distracted  ball; 

Calm,  cruel,  dread  with  gorgon-headed  shields 

Forged  in  the  sun,  and  fresh  Hephaestian  mail. 

Waved  each  a  falchion  like  a  comet's  tail 

Threatening  extinction  to  a  million  stars. 

And  now  against  the  drum-head  of  the  moon 

Shivered  a  lightning  bolt;  and  all  hell  shook, 

While  the  supreme  recorder  in  his  book 

A  new  page  marred  with  blood ;  and  like  a  wall 

Smitten  with  earthquake  fell  the  impatient  bars, 

Whence,  snorting  trumpet  blasts,  a  mad  platoon 

Of  rampant  elephants  rushed  forth,  and  raged 

Down  that  black  plain  of  cloud  like  winds  uncaged;  — 

As  Alpine  peaks  had  avalanches  hurled 

Down  the  besplintered  pathway  of  their  rock;  — 

With  liquid  leaps,  as  some  great  torrent  runs 

Bursting  the  futile  barrier  of  its  dam, 

And  oscillating  like  a  drunken  world. 

But  lined  in  solid  ranks  to  meet  the  shock 
Knelt  calm  ten  thousand  archers,  who  at  once 


10  EAST  AND    WEST. 

Bent  their  great  bows  as  bamboo  forests  bend 

When  off  the  Yellow  Sea  beats  the  simoom. 

Earth  heard  their  loosened  cords  like  crack  of  doom, 

Or  the  last  crash  of  some  mad  orchestra. 

And  a  low  cloud  of  hissing  serpents  sped 

Stinging  like  fire-fed  eels  from  Surinam; 

Till  those  great  mammoths  fell  and  writhed  in  pain, 

Tearing  each  other's  flesh,  as  tigers  rend 

The  bones  of  sheep.     And  now  the  gilded  car 

Of  each  archangel  moved;  the  ominous  tread 

Of  myriad  chargers  sounded  on  their  flanks; 

And  gathering  lines  of  mounted  furies  whirled 

Down  either  side,  and  tore  through  broken  ranks 

As  spring-fed  torrents  tear  through  rock-choked  passes, 

Sweeping  away,  like  cyclones,  struggling  masses; 

Till  in  the  centre  of  that  blood-streaked  plain 

They  met  as  mountains  meet,  when  Titans  cast 

Pelion  on  Ossa,  and  their  fragments  spurt 

Through  startled  space  a  jet  of  asteroids. 

And  now  the  red  demonic  masses  seething 
In  the  wild  vortex  of  those  awful  voids 
Felt  the  strained  strata  of  the  atmospheres 
Cracking  beneath  them;  and,  as  polar  bears 
Slipping  on  toppling  icebergs  when  the  spring 
Loosens  the  Greenland  crust  in  Baffin's  Bay, 
They  reeled,  and  through  that  crumbling  crater  passed 
As  towns  melt  up  in  earthquakes,  like  the  spray 
Of  salt  seas  hissing  through  earth's  molten  heart. 


EAST  AND    WEST.  11 

Not  like  the  falling  Satan  dazed,  inert, 
Impotent,  cursing  like  a  baffled  king; 
But  as  a  blood-red  dragon  active,  breathing 
Mephitic  tongues  of  flame,  with  teeth  like  swords 
To  reap  glad  harvests  of  barbarian  hordes;  — 
So  on  the  pygmy  heads  of  Persian  hosts 
Thundered  this  dread  Niagara  of  ghosts. 

But  now  the  Greeks  like  a  long  fire-tipped  dart 
Burst  frontward  in.     And  Alexander  shrieked 
To  frenzy  wrought  by  hell's  unclaimed  alliance. 
And  the  shrill  whistle  of  his  hot  defiance 
Pierced,  with  the  meteor-flashing  of  his  blade, 
Straight  to  Darius'  heart;  who  turned  dismayed 
Into  the  maddened  flight  of  plunging  horses 
Trampling  to  crimson  froth  their  slippery  courses. 
As  some  proud  orb,  meeting  magnetic  bars 
Flashed  from  indomitable  master  stars, 
Pauses  a  moment,  hesitant  and  piqued, 
Then  with  a  shudder  hurries  retrograde 
Down  the  long  reaches  of  the  zodiac;  — 
So  did  the  Persian  monarch  on  his  track; 
So  swirled  behind  the  spray  of  rout  and  wrack, 
Like  Tigris,  flooding  Babylonian  plains 
With  wreckage  of  undreamed  catastrophe. 

And  now  the  world  lay  at  his  feet.     But  he, 
Like  some  discarded  engine  of  the  gods, 
Smitten  by  rash  excess  of  his  own  Mars, 


12  EAST  AND    WEST. 

Fell  on  the  pathway  of  the  continents. 

Not  all  the  winged  fates  for  which  he  fought, 

Not  all  the  gorgeous  gates  of  ancient  reigns 

Submerged  beneath  his  Macedonian  sea 

Could  grant  him  shelter.     Yet  those  peaceful  waves, 

Filling  earth's  golden  cup  from  Chersonese 

To  the  wide  crystal  of  Himalya's  rim, 

Wearing  strange  channels  for  ^Egean  seas 

Through  Indus'  mouth, —  whence  the  returning  tide 

Sweeps  the  vast  spoil  of  oriental  thought, — 

Lay  on  the  pregnant  bosom  of  those  sods 

Through  the  long  evening  mists  of  centuries, 

The  sunset  chamber  of  the  world's  veiled  bride; 

Where  dull  Seleucid  crimson  afterglows, 

Or  the  last  purple  arch  of  Parthian  bows 

Blended  rich  blooms  from  continental  graves : 

Lay  in  still  depths  of  brooding  elements 

Like  ferns  in  dark  organic  soil  of  tombs, 

Whose  slow  gestating  mystery  of  wombs 

Silent,  unheralded,  in  twilight  dim 

Moulded  twin  orbs  for  hovering  cherubim. 

So  had  the  spirits  of  the  hemispheres 

Fore-planned  the  fruitful  years, 

Ere  nature's  cyclic  chills 

Should  wrap  their  tender  souls  in  separate  ills. 

So  the  pure  germ  of  art 
Washed  from  its  native  soil, 


EAST  AND    WEST.  13 

Warm  with  the  last  caress  of  Grecian  toil, 

Nestled  against  the  oriental  heart; 

Mid  the  first  kindling  faith  of  Scythian  plains 

Found  tender  incarnation 

In  shoots  of  fresh  creation 

Creeping  like  frost-blown  flowers  o'er  Buddhist  fanes. 

So,  too,  Imperial  Rome, 

Smitten  with  pangs  of  unsuspected  birth, 

By  her  new  Eastern  blade  of  conscience  keen 

Stabbed  in  the  secret  chamber  of  her  heart, 

Rent  her  gay  robes  of  art, 

Levelled  the  stately  marbles  of  her  home : 

Then,  with  breast  bared, 

And  gray  head  bent  to  earth 

In  the  first  ecstasy  of  suffering, 

Rushed  to  the  desert  like  a  guilty  thing, 

And  cast  her  weight  of  sin,  so  gladly  shared, 

Upon  the  Mercy  of  the  Nazarene. 

So  shall  we  leave  them  there, 
Two  worlds  as  if  in  prayer, 
In  consecration  kneeling, 
For  one  blest  moment  feeling 
That  strife 
Is  not  true  life, 
That  perfect  rest 
Is  best. 


PART   II. 


O  SWEET  dead  artist  and  seer,  O  tender  prophetic  priest, 
Draw  me  aside  the  curtain  that  veils  the  heart  of  your  East. 

0  wing  of  the  Empress  of  mountains, 
Brood  white  o'er  a  world  of  surprises; 
And  soar  to  thy  Sun  as  she  rises 

From  the  mazarine  arch  of  her  fountains. 

For  thine  islands  she  dropped  in  the  reeds 

As  a  girdle  of  emerald  beads, 

And  her  rainbow  promise  of  genius  spanned 

As  a  bridge  for  the  gods  to  their  chosen  land. 

And  her  last  pure  poet  shall  sing 

Like  a  farewell  note 

From  a  nightingale's  throat 

Of  her  peace,  through  thy  roseate  window  of  Spring. 

1  saw  him  last  in  the  solemn  grove 
Where  the  orange  temples  of  Kasiiga  shine, 
Feeding  the  timorous  deer  that  rove 
Through  her  tall,  dark,  purple  pillars  of  pine, 
And  marking  the  pattern  of  leaves 

14 


EAST  AND    WEST.  15 

Which  the  golden  mesh  of  the  willow  weaves 

On  the  olive  bed  of  her  moss-grown  eaves. 

And  I  cried  to  my  painter-sage, 

"  O  spirit  lone  of  a  bygone  age, 

Smiling  mid  ruin  and  change, 

With  faith  in  the  beautiful  soul  of  things, 

I  would  gaze  on  the  jewels  thy  vision  brings 

From  the  calm  interior  depths  of  its  range. 

For  I  've  flown  from  my  West 

Like  a  desolate  bird  from  a  broken  nest 

To  learn  thy  secret  of  joy  and  rest. 

Quaff  from  thy  fancy's  chalice, 

And  build  me  anew  the  fairy  palace 

With  arches  gilded  and  ceiling  pearled 

Where  dwells  the  soul  of  thine  Asian  world." 

Then  I  thought  that  his  smile  grew  finer, 
As  if  touched  with  an  insight  diviner; 
Dear  Hogai,  my  master, 
Perched  on  a  wild  wistaria  stem. 
And  I  marked  the  light  on  his  mantle's  hem 
Of  a  halo  pure  as  a  purple  aster. 
And  the  cold  green  blades  of  a  bamboo  spear 
Pierced  to  his  hand  through  the  atmosphere, 
Like  the  note  of  a  silver  bell  to  the  ear. 
And  his  voice  came  soft  as  the  hymn 
Which  the  snow-clad  virgins  in  cloister  dim 
Were  chanting,  with  rhythmical  sway  of  limb. 


16  EAST  AND    WEST. 

"The  past  is  the  seed  in  the  heart  of  a  rose 

Whose  petalled  present  shall  fade  as  it  blows. 

The  past  is  the  seed  in  the  soul  of  man, 

The  infinite  Now  of  the  spirit's  span. 

For  flesh  is  a  flower 

That  blooms  for  an  hour; 

And  the  soul  is  the  seed 

Which  determines  the  breed, 

The  past  in  the  present 

For  monarch  or  peasant. 

Eye  to  eye 

'T  is  ourselves  we  spy; 

For  doom  or  grace 

One  manifold  face; 

Life's  triumphs  and  errors 

In  self-resurrections, 

Like  endless  reflections 

From  parallel  mirrors. 

"  Now  I  speed  on  a  charger  of  wind 
To  the  snow-capped  castles  of  Ind. 
Mid  statues  of  Buddha  the  meek, 
Link  between  Mongol  and  Greek, 
Kanishka  haughty  and  lone 
Here  lolled  on  his  sculptured  throne, 
The  great  Vasubandhu  to  mark, 
Lion-faced  patriarch. 
Now  moss  like  a  pall 
Shrouds  the  ruined  wall; 


EAST  AND    WEST.  17 

Afar  in  the  desert  the  tigers  call. 

One  pilgrim  alone 

From  its  sandy  bed 

Is  lifting  a  beautiful  Buddha's  head. 

'O  take  me,  loved  of  the  dragon  throne, 

Back  to  thy  pious  imperial  prince; 

For  ages  and  ages  since 

'T  was  I  who  carved  that  form 

From  the  limestone  warm. 

I  '11  show  thee  where  germinate  in  the  soil 

A  thousand  truncated  gods  for  thy  spoil. 

Gather  these  Bodhisats, 

And  battle-scarred  features  of  grim  Arhats, 

And  arrogant  alabaster  kings 

With  eyes  of  jacinth 

Dethroned  from  their  plinth, 

And  the  masterful  heads  of  Scythian  knights 

Scowling  in  mortal  fights 

With  misshapen  elemental  things. 

And  hurry  thy  laden  ship 

On  a  heaven-blessed  homeward  trip;  — 

So  shall  the  Northern  and  Eastern  plains 

Clap  their  hands  at  thy  gains. 

For  the  light  of  unborn  states 

From  these  things  radiates; 

Blood  for  solution 

Of  crystal  worlds  Confucian; 

Stars  for  the  final  Asian  man 

Rising  in  far  Japan. 


18  EAST  AND    WEST. 

I  '11  paint  on  the  wall 

Of  thy  Tartar  capital 

Blue  gods  unmoved  in  everlasting  flame, 

Vast  planetary  coils  without  a  name, 

Invigorating  thrills 

From  unseen  wills. 

And  spurred  by  these  I  shall  cast 

Black  bronze  in  an  infinite  mould, 

As  high  as  a  pine 

And  as  fine 

As  the  patient  jeweller  carves  his  gold; 

Impersonal  types  which  shall  last 

As  the  noblest  ideals  of  the  Past.' 


"O  crystalline  flash  at  the  bar  of  billows! 
O  amethyst  gate  of  the  Eastern  seas ! 
O  balmy  bosom  of  soft  spring  willows ! 
O  pearly  vision  of  white  plum  trees ! 

"  O  blest  Hangchow,  I  fly  to  thee  now 
As  a  fluttering  dove  to  her  leafy  home; 
As  the  seabirds  sweep  o'er  the  spray  of  the  deep 
To  the  reedy  fringe  of  Sientang's  foam. 

"  Now  a  mirror  of  pines  thy  soft  lake  shines 
By  the  dewy  breath  of  the  morning  kissed. 
And  the  spouting  rills  like  the  blood  of  the  hills 
Are  drunk  by  the  passionate  lips  of  the  mist. 


EAST  AND    WEST.  19 

"  In  a  tangle  of  leaves  with  silken  sleeves 
Thy  poets  sing  on  the  terraced  beach, 
Where  the  blue-flagged  taverns  with  mossy  eaves 
Are  starred  by  the  pink  of  the  blossoming  peach. 

"  Thy  ramparts  rise  with  roofs  to  the  skies 
Like  a  jewelled  cluster  of  golden  peaks. 
'Neath  the  crystal  ridge  of  the  arching  bridge 
Is  the  dreamy  shade  which  the  boatman  seeks. 

"  While  sunbeams  play  on  the  rock-hewn  way 
To  the  dizzy  heights  of  his  temple's  spire, 
Like  a  spirit  roves  in  mountain  groves 
The  priestly  painter  with  soul  a-fire. 

"  Nor  frost  of  age  shall  the  saintly  sage 
Restrain  from  the  balm  of  his  walk  at  noon; 
Nor  the  hem  of  the  night  retard  the  flight 
Of  the  maiden  who  bares  her  breast  to  the  moon. 

"  In  dainty  dells  where  the  silver  bells 
Of  far-off  temples  caress  the  breeze, 
Shall  nature's  child  with  her  locks  blown  wild 
Her  herbs  let  fall  as  she  falls  on  her  knees. 

"  For  visions  come  on  the  noontide  hum 
Of  soul  in  the  infinite  warmth  of  things, 
The  mirror  of  moods  where  spirit  broods 
With  the  glory  of  love  on  her  half-grown  wings. 


20  EAST  AND    WEST. 

"  There  knotted  pines  with  their  storm-torn  lines 
Are  stamped  with  the  stress  of  a  passion  human; 
And  the  willow  swims  on  its  current  of  limbs 
Like  the  yielding  heart  of  a  queenly  woman. 

"And  mountains  crossed  by  the  track  of  the  frost, 
And  rocks  that  harden  with  weight  of  woes, 
And  rivers  that  hide  like  a  sweet,  shy  bride, 
And  thorns  which  sting  in  the  kiss  of  a  rose, 

"And  habits  that  twine  in  a  clinging  vine, 
And  innocent  herons  in  lotus  beds, 
And  water  that  showers  the  vernal  flowers, 
Are  the  patterns  of  soul  with  its  rainbow  threads. 

"And  a  song  of  pity  is  rife  in  the  city; 
And  the  marts  of  toil  are  a  revel  of  mirth; 
And  the  passion  of  labor  is  help  to  a  neighbor 
For  the  sake  of  the  love  God  breathes  on  the  earth. 

"Let  the  painter  paint  a  world  for  a  saint! 
Let  the  poet  sing  of  the  realm  of  the  heart ! 
Where  the  spur  of  duty  is  the  passion  for  beauty 
There  Love  is  a  law,  and  the  Law  is  an  art. 

"  O  crystalline  flash  at  the  bar  of  billows, 
O  tremulous  secret  the  pine-trees  hum ! 
There  once  was  a  life  like  the  peace  of  thy  willows, — 
But  night  shuts  down,  and  my  voice  is  dumb. 


EAST  AND    WEST.  21 

"  Farewell  to  the  dawn  in  the  meadow ! 
Farewell  to  the  glint  on  the  dew ! 
All  hail  to  the  wing  of  the  shadow, 
And  a  kiss  for  the  curse  of  the  new ! 
'T  is  the  flight  of  the  wild  goose  graven 
On  the  pale  green  gold  of  the  West; 
And  I  wake  to  the  call  of  the  raven. 
Let  me  sing  to  the  land  of  my  rest ! 

"  O  land  where  the  towns  are  like  garden  blooms ! 
O  land  where  the  maids  are  like  peaches ! 
O  gardens  faint  with  their  own  perfumes ! 
O  maidens  like  waves  on  the  beaches ! 
O  erratic  child  Japanese ! 
Heir  of  Mongolian  peace, 
Though  we  know  not  thy  fate  hereafter, 
Thank  God  for  thy  genuine  laughter. 
Bathe  in  the  passing  mood  of  thy  mirth 
As  in  sunlit  ether  the  earth; 
Like  the  plunging  bow  of  a  ship 
In  the  pools  of  thy  faith  still  dip; 
And  freshen  the  Asian  ideal 
In  the  cooling  floods  of  the  real. 

"  Not  for  sages  only 
Or  hermits  lonely 
Blows  the  bud  of  truth; 
But  for  innocent  youth, 
Hearts  that  smile 
With  no  shadow  of  guile. 


22  EAST  AND    WEST. 

Let  pink-veined  pleasure  bloom ! 

Bliss 

Like  the  kiss 

Of  a  summer  air, 

Roving  it  knows  not  where, 

Blessing  it  cares  not  whom ! 

Words 

Like  the  glad  good  morning  of  the  birds; 

Loves 

Like  the  coo  of  doves; 

Soft  whispers 

As  of  fair  nuns  at  vespers; 

Airs 

Pure  as  a  child's  first  prayers! 

Let  us  dance 

To  the  moon 

In  a  ring  of  wild  flowers ! 

In  a  trance 

Let  us  swoon 

On  the  lap  of  the  hours ! 

Let  us  fly 

Like  a  lark  to  the  sky ! 

Let  us  graze 

Like  a  dove-eyed  fawn 

On  the  purple  pastures  of  haze ! 

Let  us  leap  on  the  gem-starred  lawn 

Of  the  virginal  dawn ! 

Let  us  gaze 

In  a  pool 


EAST  AND    WEST,  23 

In  the  heart  of  a  dell 

Shady  and  cool; 

On  the  film  of  that  well 

See  unexpected 

Beauty  reflected, 

The  world  of  art 

Like  a  thing  apart;  — 

Ripples  of  notes 

From  wild  birds  throats, 

Blurred  outlines 

Of  the  shimmer  of  pines, 

Tangled  masses 

Of  dew-soaked  grasses, 

Faint  perfumes 

From  the  mirrored  blooms ! 

This  is  thy  mission, 

O  child  of  transition, 

To  illumine  the  gloomy  pages 

Of  later  ages. 

Retain  simplicity 

Even  to  eccentricity, 

Prize  individuality 

As  man's  divinest  quality, 

The  spontaneity 

Of  Deity! 

Teach  them  the  music  fine 

In  the  curve  of  a  perfect  line; 

Teach  them  to  water  their  art 

With  the  blood  of  the  heart ! 


24  EAST  AND    WEST. 

"  O  happy  children  of  blest  Japan, 
Relics  of  elemental  man 
Before  souls  wilt 

In  the  parching  consciousness  of  guilt ! 
Dance  to  the  tune  of  thy  flutes, 
Or  weep  at  thy  pathos  of  lutes; 
Gather  like  laughing  stars 
Round  the  course  of  thy  festal  cars; 
Light  the  smoking  torch 
O'er  the  flower-bed  in  thy  porch; 
Hang  evergreen 

On  the  gate  at  New  Year's  e'en; 
Love  storks  and  deer 
And  all  things  significant  and  queer; 
Wine  cups  of  buds  like  myrtles, 
And  the  hairy  tails  of  turtles, 
Pigeons  feasting  on  temple  crumbs, 
The  explosive  eloquence  of  plums; 
Crowds  picnicking  merry 
In  snowy  vistas  of  cherry, 
Where  perfumed  avalanches 
Slip  from  the  laden  branches; 
Leap  of  the  carp 
To  strike  the  wistaria's  harp, 
Garlands  to  deck  the  brow 
Of  the  marble  cow; 
The  pleasant  croon 
Of  far  secluded  priests  at  noon 
Gliding  o'er  lacquered  floors, 


EAST  AND    WEST.  25 

Pacing  long  lines  of  orange  corridors, 

Where  the  dim  gold  Buddh  of  the  altars 

Nods  to  the  hum  of  their  psalters ! 

In  the  very  incense  smoke 

Consecrate  thy  harmless  joke; 

Banter  of  paradoxes, 

Folk-lore  of  badgers  and  foxes; 

Fathers  of  families 

Preaching  droll  homilies; 

Children  in  merry  hosts 

Frightened  by  masks  of  ghosts, 

Toasting  rice-cakes  on  winter  nights, 

Battling  with  saw-stringed  kites, 

Sisters  and  brothers 

Basking  like  kittens  in  the  love  of  their  mothers ! 

"  O  mother  heart,  pierced  with  keen 
Anxieties  that  banish  sleep 
For  sons  who  rove  on  the  deep, 
Pray  to  the  holy  snow-white  Queen, 
Spirit  of  Providence, 
Choosing  her  throne 
On  the  cold  gray  stone, 
In  love  intense 
Sweeping  with  inner  sense 
O'er  miles  of  watery  waste, 
Rushing  in  haste 

Where  cold  billows  lift  monstrous  lips 
To  suck  in  blasted  hulls  of  ships ! 


26  EAST  AND    WEST. 

Pray  for  the  golden  peace 

Of  the  Buddha  of  Infinite  Light ! 

Let  the  importunity  cease 

Of  the  Self  who  knocks  in  the  night ! 

Make  thy  choice 

Of  the  low  inarticulate  voice ! 

Save  the  man  at  thy  breast 

Who  screams 

At  the  sting  of  the  gold  in  his  dreams, 

The  unholy  strife  of  the  West! " 


O  wing  of  the  Empress  of  mountains ! 

So  sang  thy  last  poet  at  Kasuga's  fountains. 

The  chant  of  the  vestals  had  ceased. 

The  moon  was  awake  in  the  East. 

The  love-locked  pine-branches  o'er  us 

Tinkled  their  bells  in  sympathetic  chorus; 

And  the  willow  wept 

Where  the  violet  smiled  as  she  slept. 

My  heart  too  was  swelling 

With  the  tears  of  a  love  past  telling. 

But  I  said :  — 

"  O  blossom  of  life  in  a  dew-starred  bed, 

Thou  art  too  sweet  for  this  earth, 

Too  exquisite  to  linger; 

Like  the  peace  of  a  blest  babe  who  dies  at  birth, 

Like  the  agony  of  tears 


EAST  AND    WEST.  27 

When  the  young  mother  robbed  of  its  prayed-for 

years 

Kisses  the  listless  ringer. 
Say,  on  the  feminine  curves  of  thy  plain 
Rises  no  rock  for  a  counter-strain? 
Are  there  no  trumpets  to  shriek 
In  the  sleeping  ear  of  the  meek? 
No  comet  to  threaten  the  sun?" 
Yes,  there  was  one ;  — 
One  priest  white-robed  who  seemed  to  glide 
Like  a*  ghost  from  the  rock  at  my  side, 
With  a  smile  that  pierced  like  a  sword 
And  a  soul-compelling  word. 
And  I  heard  him  say, 
As  we  fell  on  our  knees  to  pray :  — 

"The  fire  of  combat  flashes 

'Neath  the  grass-grown  slopes  of  the  ashes. 

The  planets  are  held  in  their  places 

By  the  struggles  of  mighty  races. 

Choice  souls  have  forever  come 

To  be  trained  for  their  martyrdom 

Since  the  days  when  Kukai  hurled 

His  dart  from  the  Chinese  world. 

What  can  the  dreaming  people  know 

Of  the  tempest  surging  below, 

Of  the  devils  storming  the  very 

Fort  of  the  monastery  ? 

He  who  would  strangle  an  elf 


28  EAST  AND    WEST. 

Must  first  of  all  conquer  himself ; 

The  true  knight 

With  his  own  heart  fight, 

Antagony 

Of  untold  agony ! 

On  no  external  god  relying, 

Self-armed,  heaven  and  hell  alike  defying, 

Lonely, 

With  bare  will  only, 

Biting  his  bitter  blood-stained  sod;  — 

This  for  the  world,  as  for  Japan, 

This  is  to  be  a  man ! 

This  is  to  be  a  god!" 


PART   III. 
Separated 


SOUL  of  my  inner  face,  face  of  my  race, 

Strong  mask  of  self-assertion,  positive, 

Firm  lip  of  competition,  masculine, 

Broad  brow  of  Mercury,  quick,  cunning,  keen, 

Fierce  eye  of  Mars  with  crest  of  sunlit  fringe  ! 

Through  nights  of  Time  I  mark  thy  luminous  course, 

Furrowing  rich  worlds  with  prow  piratical, 

Grafting  new  shoots  on  broken  racial  stems, 

Sowing  old  soils  fresh  fertilized  with  blood. 

Thou  art  the  sieve  of  men,  whence  weaker  bulks 

Slip  through  the  meshes  to  oblivion. 

Breathe  through  my  blood  once  more  thy  feverish  glow, 

Long  chilled  by  cooling  crusts  of  compromise  ; 

Thou,  strong  in  reciprocity  of  needs, 

Expansive  self-willed  personality  ! 

Standing  upon  the  vantage-ground  of  peaks 
Kissed  by  the  light  of  rising  Easter  dawns, 
I  mark  long  lines  of  shadows  surge  like  ghosts 
Waging  with  noiseless  shout  their  mimic  war. 

29 


30  EAST  AND    WEST. 

As  some  vast  wave  o'ertopping  lunar  tides, 
Engendered  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea 
By  stifled  monsters  wrenched,  whose  fissured  mouths 
Feed  on  her  protoplasmic  gelatines, 
Sweeps  on  with  circling  rim,  like  living  discs 
Of  light  from  stars  long  centuries  extinct, 
Slipping  from  pole  to  pole  as  if  a  hand 
Caressed  the  tiny  surface  of  this  ball ;  — 
So  from  dark  mouths  of  prehistoric  woods 
Which  once  had  reared  their  gloomy  palisades 
To  hail  the  slow  retreat  of  baffled  ice, 
Issue  chill  floods  of  melting  Northern  snows, 
A  wild  Teutonic  wave  of  glacial  steel 
Submerging  Roman  worlds  ;  with  surge  of  spray 
Mocking  the  lonely  sentinels  of  Alps, 
Cresting  the  faithful  bar  of  Apennines, 
Storming  the  portals  of  the  Pyrenees, 
Tainting  the  sunlit  laughter  of  the  Rhine 
With  eddying  crimson  shrieks  of  tortured  hearts ;  — 
A  flood  of  human  fiends,  by  furies  driven 
To  quaff  the  wine  of  life  from  lipless  skulls, 
And  doom  for  slaves  fair  weeping  captive  maids 
In  marts  of  their  own  marble  palaces. 

Now  shot  from  polar  coasts  see  meteors  flash, 
Long  lines  of  viking  ships,  with  low  black  hulls 
Like  vultures,  plunging  through  the  Northern  seas, 
Hovering  like  gulls  in  track  of  channel  storms, 
Scouring  for  prey  the  long  white  sunlit  cliffs ; 


EAST  AND    WEST.  31 

Wailing  their  chant  to  Odin  like  wild  winds 

Surging  through  organ  pipes  of  naked  fiords, 

Wooing  Valhalla  to  Northumbrian  hills 

Or  primrose-garnished  banks  of  lovely  Seine. 

Now,  drunk  with  richer  wine  of  vanquished  worlds, 

Wielding  the  cross  as  once  their  bolt  of  Thor, 

They  skirt  with  gorgeous  sweep  Hispania's  curves, 

Through  pillared  gateway  of  the  land-locked  sea 

Set  in  its  rifted  coasts  of  gilded  cloud, 

A  blue  enamelled  dragon  !     Now  they  break, 

Those  strange  Norse  champions  of  a  Hebrew  god, 

The  threatening  onsets  of  the  Saracen, 

Dispersed  like  storms  which  strew  with  wrecks  thy  coast, 

Nurse  of  a  hundred  races,  Sicily  ! 

Whether  in  corpse-choked  pass  at  Roncesvalles, 
Second  Thermopylae  of  Paladins  ; 
Or  in  the  vortex  of  Valkyrian  joy 
Welcoming  Hastings'  maddest  hail  of  spears ; 
Anon  in  flaming  wrath  of  wild  crusades 
Storming  the  hoary  walls  of  Constantine, 
Laying  a  clanging  wreath  of  naked  swords 
Upon  the  tombstone  of  the  Prince  of  Peace  ; 
Forging  new  thrones  for  kings  pontifical, 
Wresting  dominion  from  the  polar  ice, 
Filching  the  torrid  spoil  of  Indian  seas  ; 
Columbus  with  his  unaccustomed  keels 
Piercing  the  void  to  worlds  antipodal :  — 
Whether  it  be,  in  song,  Arthurian  knights, 


32  EAST  AND    WEST. 

Or  Siegfried  battling  with  the  wills  of  gods, 
Or  weird  still  voices  of  the  steel-clad  maid  ; 
Now  the  atomic  flash  of  feudal  war, 
Now  the  red  arguments  of  Christian  zeal : 
Or  where  in  gloomy  dungeons  of  the  soul 
Shrieks  the  self-torture  of  inquisitors  ; 
Or  where  in  glow  of  young  creative  faith 
Pure  Gothic  pinnacles  like  crystal  darts 
Precipitate  on  films  of  firmament, 
Echoes  of  martial  songs  to  melt  in  tears, 
Passions  of  hearts  to  palpitate  in  flowers, 
Fire- whorls  to  lap  the  altars  of  the  moon  :  — 
There  I  accept  my  dower  of  Western  blood 
Kneeling  in  sackcloth  as  a  penitent 
To  consecrate  such  power  for  worthier  aim. 

What  gave  this  world  of  turbulence  its  strength  ? 
What  its  cement  of  bonds  centripetal  ? 
Was  it  blind  crash  of  molecules  supreme 
Compelling  peace  of  equilibrium  ? 
Tangles  of  selves  in  planetary  coils 
Won  from  vast  voids  of  human  nebulae  ? 
Force  bearding  force  like  John  at  Runnymede  ? 
Rights  torn  like  blasted  profiles  from  the  rock? 
Self  abdicating  self  for  self  s  own  aim  ? 
Ah,  Law,  laugh  loud  at  heaven's  harmonic  code, 
Then  kneel  to  naked  negativity  ! 
Cromwell  and  Luther  hail  as  champions, 
Not  Him  of  Galilee  thy  guarantee ! 


EAST  AND    WEST.  33 

O  self -fed  spring  of  thought,  O  eager  lip 
Of  scientific  pride,  thou  too  art  stained 
With  the  ancestral  curse;  —  analysis 
Splitting  ideas  in  fine-spun  silver  threads 
Like  the  cold  drip  from  icicles,  impelled 
To  wrest  each  numbered  angle  from  the  maze 
Of  cosmic  synthesis,  all  faiths  and  loves 
To  solve  in  pools  of  fleshly  impulses; 
Sweeping  the  sky  with  rival  telescopes 
For  paltry  gold  or  crumbling  stars  of  fame, 
Yet  in  the  blindness  of  self-centred  zeal 
Founding  new  plinths  for  shafts  of  spirit-worlds. 
Whether  in  wars  where  words  like  bolts  are  hurled 
From  ramparts  of  scholastic  fortresses, 
Or  systems  crashing  from  their  Titan  suns 
To  fall  in  spray  of  blasted  principle; 
Or  gnomes  who  dig  dark  secrets  from  the  earth, 
Or  sylphs  who  mount  the  coursers  of  the  clouds, 
Ariels  who  hail  the  shadow  of  the  moon 
For  cyclic  chase  of  self -hid  photospheres; 
Bees  bearing  message  from  the  bursting  buds, 
Adventurous  birds,  earth's  floral  pioneers, 
Or  boys  who  cast  away  the  wanton  stone 
To  marvel  at  the  lithesome  leap  of  life; 
Whether  the  faultless  search  that  stifles  pain, 
Or  incarnating  thought  which  lifts  on  high 
Vast  airy  webs  of  steel  to  span  the  floods, 
Rivets  the  ends  of  earth  with  breathing  links, 
And  laughs  at  space  in  telepathic  speed; 


34  EAST  AND    WEST. 

Or  be  it  libraries  of  bygone  deeds 

Rescued  from  torch  of  time,  or  mysteries 

Of  interracial  flux,  or  desert  wastes 

Of  dry  statistic  covering  fertile  wells :  — 

These  be  thy  choicest  blooms  for  offering 

Before  the  judges  of  Manwantaras, 

Thou,  thirst  unslaked  of  curiosity ! 

Thou,  prying,  piercing  pygmy,  unappalled 

Though  hell  launch  forth  anathemas,  resolved 

To  conquer  facts  as  thou  destroyest  worlds ! 

Thou  dauntless  Norseman  steering  fragile  barks 

Into  the  sunsets  of  Infinity ! 

Now  on  high  noon  of  hot  commercial  tides 

See  thy  ripe  products  borne  to  Eastern  spheres; 

Threatening  the  world  with  thy  belligerent  types, 

Threatening  thyself  with  thine  excess  of  zeal. 

The  very  lust  and  greed  by  which  is  spun 

The  knitting  tissue  of  these  cruel  wounds, 

The  very  curse  which  whips  our  naked  crews 

To  span  the  world  with  steel-bound  leap  of  trade, 

Poison  the  crimson  life-tide  of  our  veins, 

Convene  the  dread  tribunal  of  our  doom. 

The  smoke  of  chimneys  taints  this  verdant  world. 

The  pests  of  crowded  indigence  and  vice 

Are  nigh  to  eat  the  manhood  of  thy  heart. 

See'st  thou  the  fuse  of  thine  own  dynamite? 

Self-law,  self-science,  self-greed,  self-wealth,  self -sworn 

To  blast  the  stanchest  stronghold  of  thy  pride ! 


EAST  AND    WEST.  35 

The  West  provokes  the  East.     The  iron  arm 
Slips  off  the  narrow  edges  of  this  world. 
Flaxen-haired  vandals  hunt  for  zest  of  blood 
The  black  striped  tigers  of  the  Bengalee, 
Scaling  the  slippery  crests  of  Himavats, 
Holding  the  poisoned  cup  to  Mongol  lips. 
See  in  last  glimpse  how  unchecked  years  condense 
The  forces  of  destruction.  —  Miles  of  wall 
Gemmed  like  enamelled  rainbows,  gleam  of  lakes 
Shot  through  fair  parks,  whose  lines  of  granite  bridge 
Sweep  like  the  sculptured  drapery  of  a  god; 
Cresting  the  hill  a  dream  of  jewelled  tents 
Caught  from  the  mirror  of  the  sunset  skies, 
Now  crystallized  in  marble  terraces, 
And  gilded  pillars,  and  the  arch  of  roofs 
Bright  with  chromatic  coronet  of  tiles, 
And  endless  treasures  of  green-hearted  bronze, 
And  blood-red  urns,  and  rare  canary  sheens 
Flashed  from  a  whispering  sea  of  draperies;  — 
The  Summer  Palace  of  the  Dragon  Throne 
Unmatched  by  all  the  wonders  of  the  world ;  — 
Now  lapped  in  flame,  whose  red  remorseful  lip 
Shrinks  from  the  dread  repast,  pillars  of  smoke 
Bearing  earth's  funeral  wail  to  weeping  stars 
For  the  lost  marvel  of  the  centuries;  — 
Like  crumbling  glow  of  Alexandria's  tomes 
Or  shattered  fragments  of  the  Parthenon ! 


36  EAST  AND    WEST. 

Ah  night  that  falls 

In  floods  of  twisted  palls, 

Blot  out  this  culminating  crime  of  men; 

For  far  on  high 

In  yon  polluted  sky 

Meet  the  two  spirits  of  the  world  again . 

"Brother,  for  this 

Gave  I  my  parting  kiss? 

Is  this  the  flower 

Nursed  in  thy  bosom  from  that  fateful  hour? 

Two  thousand  years 

Wasted  to  drown  the  world  in  tears? 

Where  is  the  gem 

Of  broken-souled  contrition, 

The  victory  of  submission, 

I  lent  thee  from  my  Eastern  diadem?  " 

Then  spake  the  angel  of  the  West, 

With  tear-wet  wings  folded  upon  his  breast :  — 

"  Sister,  it  is  not  lost, 

That  flame  of  Pentecost. 

It  burns 

In  the  still  spirits  of  my  chosen  urns. 

What  though  through  age-long  nights  of  violence 

The  masculinity  intense 

Of  races  rude 

May  desecrate  its  mood  ? 

I  can  reveal  to  thee  another  story 


EAST  AND    WEST.  37 

Of  apostolic  glory;  — 

Prayers  that  have  curbed 

The  brutal  passion  of  a  world  disturbed, 

For  wild  despair  the  vent 

Of  pity's  sacrament, 

Love  as  a  balm 

For  torn  and  bleeding  souls, 

As  of  a  bell  that  tolls 

Notes  of  eternal  calm ! 

Canst  thou  not  feel  • 

The  stricken  millions  kneel 

Clasping  the  bloody  cross  whereon  He  dies? 

Praying  for  torture  keen, 

The  crown  of  sacrifice 

Upon  the  cold  brow  of  their  Nazarene  ? 

Hast  thou  not  seen 

The  tenderest  human  loves  which  Raphael  paints, 

Transports  of  saints 

The  angelic  brother  limned 

Kneeling  in  ecstasy  with  eyes  tear-dimmed  ? 

Tears  for  that  stricken  mother-soul's  baptism, 

Her  coronation's  chrism, 

The  intrinsic,  fertile,  pure  divinity 

Of  Spirit-wrapped  Virginity !  " 

"  Yea,  brother,  thine  the  pain 
Of  wounds  not  dealt  in  vain. 
Again,  O  plighted  heart, 
We  meet,  no  more  to  part. 


38  EAST  AND    WEST. 

For  thee  I  've  kept 

These  tender  buds  of  art, 

For  thee  I  've  wept 

O'er  worlds  that  smiled  like  maidens  as  they  slept. 

Now  my  reward  supreme 

The  manhood  of  thy  dream ! 

"  But  there  's  a  deeper  bliss 

We  must  not  miss. 

Hear'st  not  the  signal  spreading 

News  of  a  second  secret  wedding? 

Religious  rites 

Of  holy  nuptial  nights? 

Dost  thou  not  hear  it, 

Virginal  wife  of  my  spirit? 

I  am  indeed  the  spouse 

Shall  lead  thee  to  my  house. 

O  tender  Christian  love, 

0  tear-blest  dove, 

1  am  thy  husband's  eye, 
Through  which  thou  shalt  descry 
Planes  of  angelic  power 
Reserved  for  thy  last  dower ! " 

"  Hear,  earth,  our  song, 

For  thou  art  bidden 

To  double  nuptials  hidden ! 

And  thy  confusion  shall  not  last  for  long." 


PART   IV. 

Efje  Present  JKeetmg  of  lEaat  arto  Meet. 

LET  us  mount !  let  us  mount !     'T  is  the  spur  of  the  horn ! 

Let  us  leap  like  a  lark  in  the  face  of  the  morn ! 

Let  us  vault  over  hedges  or  rank  river-edges, 

And  annihilate  space  in  the  rage  of  our  race ! 

Come,  prince,  like  a  varlet  bedeck  thee  in  scarlet; 

Come,  ply  the  great  trade  of  this  mad  masquerade, 

Like  a  harlequin's  prance  or  a  dervish's  dance! 

For  we  hunt,  for  we  grope  for  the  phantoms  of  hope, 

And  we  blow  a  wild  kiss  to  the  scoffing  abyss;  — 

Not  for  gold;  —  for  we  're  told  that  's  the  curse  of  the 

bold! 

Not  for  love;  —  she  's  a  fool  that  we  read  of  in  school ! 
Then  for  fame ?  —  Not  a  bit !     It 's  as  hollow  as  wit ! 
But  we  hunt,  and  we  hunt  all  the  same.     It  's  a  game ! 
It 's  for  madness  of  blood  that  we  ride  on  the  flood. 
And  we  would,  if  we  could,  leap  the  girdle 
Of  the  infinite  sea  like  a  hurdle ! 

O  you  West  in  the  East  like  the  slime  of  a  beast, 
Why  must  you  devour  that  exquisite  flower? 
Why  poison  the  peace  of  the  far  Japanese  ? 
Is  there  no  one  to  tell  of  the  birthright  they  sell? 

39 


40  EAST  AND    WEST. 

Must  they  sweat  at  machines  like  a  slave  to  the  means, 

And  murder  the  ends  at  the  beck  of  false  friends  ? 

As  the  heart  of  a  cloud  shall  the  meadow  of  Asia  be 

ploughed 
By  the  curse  of  your  fire,  and  the  glare  of  your  selfish 

desire ! 

A  fig  for  their  artists  and  scholars ! 
We  crave  the  dry-rot  of  their  dollars. 
We  teach  them  to  live  in  dark  palaces. 
We  lend  them  the  sting  of  our  malices. 
We  preach  them  the  practical  Buddha  of  Self, 
And  civilization  the  deification  of  pelf, 
The  infinite  snarl  of  sectarian  watch-dogs  religious, 
And  spiteful  revenge,  and  the  sword  of  a  spirit  litigious, 
And  a  taste  for  the  gaudy  grotesque  and  the  pompous 

prodigious. 

O  spirit  of  Genghis  Khan 

Come,  whirl  through  the  circus  of  debt  with  your  run- 
away span ! 
See  Tamerlane, 

He  lies  in  the  corner  unhorsed  by  the  lance  of  cham- 
pagne ! 

Beware,  the  Centaurian  daughters  of  Tartars 
May  trip  in  their  garters ! 

New  navies  in  armor 
Are  forged  from  the  blood-weight  of  rice; 

And  the  food  of  the  farmer 
Is  sold  at  the  throw  of  the  dice. 

And  decent  despair  in  black  coat  stalks  abroad  through 
the  land. 


EAST  AND    WEST.  41 

The  devil,  he  prays  in  good  English,  and  swears  like  a 
gentleman  grand. 

And  here  come  art-students  with  honors ! 

They  graduate  strictly  in  marble  madonnas. 
No  more  shall  their  panels  be  carved  with  a  lily  grotesque. 
They  swear  by  the  natural  Raphaelesque  arabesque ; 
Cut  anchors  for  stencils, 
And  round  up  a  portrait  with  Christian  lead-pencils, 

Improving  the  mighty  Napoleon 

With  phrenology  slightly  Mongolian. 

Child  of  some  blind  bewildered  bard 

Learning  Sunday-school  tunes  by  the  yard ! 

Sons  of  earth's  supplest  dancers 

To  graduate  in  the  Lancers ! 

Friends  of  idolatrous  priests 

Converted  in  time  for  strawberry  feasts ! 

Confucius  indeed! 

A  dried-up  old  seed ! 

They  know  of  the  prigs  and  the  canting  professors  who 
came  of  that  breed ! 

And  Roshi  who  looks  at  the  cracks 

On  terrapins'  backs ! 
Why,  they  blush  as  they  think  of  the  foxes  they  used  to 

avoid  in  the  stacks ! 
And  Buddha,  with   baubles  and  bubbles  of  principles 

easily  blowable  ?  — 

No,  thank  you !    Philosophers  rightly  prefer  the  Unknow- 
able! 


42  EAST  AND    WEST. 

O  you  East  in  the  West, 
What  is  true?    What  is  best? 
You  buzz  with  absurd  speculation,  and  break  up  the  pride 

of  our  rest. 

We  thought  we  had  got  to  the  bottom  of  evil,  and  sick- 
ness, and  charity. 

Don't  speak  of  a  Carpenter's  Son !  It  reveals  a  too  pain- 
ful disparity ! 

O  civilization  on  the  verge  of  salvation, 
Exposed  to  perfection  of  nature's  selection, 
Let  us  thank  men  of  money  that  the  world  is  so  funny ! 
Let  us  shout  for  the  wings  that  are  sprouting  on  kings ! 
Let  us  peep  through  the  prism  of  their  sly  optimism, 
Mark  the  self-evanescence  of  evil's  excrescence, 
Watch  them  feeding  their  mystics  on  juicy  statistics, 
Hear  bliss  roar  through  the  craters  of  grain-elevators ! 

O  this  spirituality  of  pure  externality ! 
Which  can  patch  up  disasters  with  arnica  plasters, 
Pipe  the  fountain  of  men's  ills  with  cunning  utensils, 
Catch  a  shower  of  schisms  in  a  cistern  of  isms ! 
Were    the   world    one  vast    greenery  of    hot-house 

machinery, 

Could  you  speed  all  creation  with  the  spur  of  taxation, 
Do  you  think  that  would  muzzle  the  asp  in  the  puzzle  ? 
Would  it  snuff  out  the  fire  of  the  primal  desire? 

O  dance  of  the  dishes !     O  pulse  of  the  purses ! 
O  whirlpool  of  wishes !     O  chaos  of  curses ! 
O  hybrid  hypocrisy  of  high-bred  democracy ! 


EAST  AND    WEST.  43 

O  self-contradictions  of  pious  convictions ! 
O  mental  congestions  of  insoluble  questions ! 
Are  there  no  panaceas  for  a  glut  of  ideas? 
Here  's  a  sweet  little  charmer  who  dotes  upon  karma! 
Now  why  should  it  please  her  to  worry  and  guess 
Whether  last  she  were  Caesar  or  merely  Queen  Bess  ? 
We  all  came  from  Eve,  and  we  're  bound  to  confess 
That  her  first  incarnation  was  not  a  success. 
Or,  horrible  thought!  't  was  perhaps  a  baboon, 
Or  a  small  elemental  who  fell  from  the  moon ! 
For  you  never  can  tell  when  your  head  starts  to  twitch 
If  it  means  a  Mahatma,  or  only  a  witch :  — 
Which  accounts  for  reliance  on  Psychical  Science. 
Nay,  take  the  bread  pills  of  your  hypnotized  wills, 
Even  antidotes  sweeter  than  the  Baghavad  Gita ! 
You  may  ride  upon  tables  that  mount  to  the  gables, 
Or  hum  the  doxology  in  terms  of  astrology, 
Or  prove  a  prime  gabble-er  concerning  the  Kabbala :  — 
You  may  play  with  the  derrick  of  things  esoteric, 
Or  hear  from  a  ghost  by  a  note  through  the  post :  — 
But,  you'll  find  slight  relief  in  eschewing  roast-beef, 
Or  the  juice  of  the  berry  that  sparkles  in  sherry; 
For  be  sure  that  the  devil  can  find  out  your  level 
Be  you  common-place  people  or  a-perch  on  a  steeple. 

O  you  West  in  the  East,  O  you  East  in  the  West, 
Were  it  best  that  you  ceased,  best  at  least  for  your  rest? 
For  you  're  lost  in  endeavor,  and  tossed  in  commotion, 
As  the  blood  of  a  river  on  the  flood  of  an  ocean. 


44  EAST  AND    WEST. 

And  you  laugh  like  a  bride  in  the  season  of  June; 
And  you  dance  like  a  tide  at  the  kiss  of  the  moon. 
For  you  leap  like  a  paid  from  the  rock-hidden  throne 

of  your  pride; 
And  you  plunge  like  a  gull  in  the  storm-ridden  plumes 

of  the  main; 
And  you  flash  like  a  star  from  the  sun-bidden  voids  of 

the  spheres.  — 
But  your  plunging  is  vain, 
And  your  leaping  is  wide, 
And  your  flashing  a  moment  of  years. 
For  though  in  a  whirl  you  pass  by  us 
Like  the  rout  of  some  fleeing  Darius, 
At  length  as  of  old  you  shall  come 
Out  of  this  second  pandemonium, 
And  kneel  with  the  mild 
Faith  of  a  little  child :  — 
Untangle  the  snarls  of  your  skein, 
Assort  them  and  weave  them  again, 
Massing  all  the  reds 
With  appropriate  threads, 
The  blues  and  the  greens 
In  harmonious  sheens, 
Purples  and  yellows 
At  peace  with  their  fellows. 

Yet  such  chromatic  powers 
E'en  now  are  dimly  ours; 
Foretaste  of  human  bliss 


EAST  AND    WEST.  45 

In  tuneful  synthesis ! 

Music,  our  fairest,  latest  daughter, 

Diamond  of  perfect  water 

Plead  for  the  West  before  the  throne  of  Truth 
ledge  of  our  unripe  youth ! 

Who  spaced  the  vibrant  stars 

Of  self-taught  orchestras, 

Breath  polyphonic 

From  heavens  harmonic, 

The  sympathetic  nodes 

Of  Orphic  odes? 

The  spirit  of  Beethoven 

With  worlds  of  unseen  spirit  woven, 

Melody  white  with  glee 

Like  yachts  upon  a  sea! 

Gemmed  white  with  glee 
Like  yachts  on  a  sea 

When  the  blue  waves  sparkle  to  breezes  free- 

Or  a-cool  in  calms 

Of  a  pool  of  palms 

In  the  sunset  seas  of  the  master,  Brahms. 

What  shall  we  say 
At  dawn  of  day 

To  the  lark  that  leaps  from  the  lilac  spray? 

Would  it  not  suit 

The  note  of  a  flute 

Afloat  on  the  tremulous  waves  of  a  lute? 


46  EAST  AND    WEST. 

Or  a  murmur  of  breeze 

Through  the  summering  trees 

Let  the  soft  strings  hum  like  the  humming  of  bees; 

Or  a  trumpet  sweet, 

Like  a  wing  on  the  wheat, 

As  it  flings  ripe  gold  at  the  listener's  feet. 

In  the  first  amaze 

Of  a  West  ablaze 

The  tone  clouds  glisten  with  scarlet  rays, 

While  the  inlaid  whirls 

Of  roses  and  pearls 

Are  sweet  as  a  chorus  of  laughing  girls. 

Like  the  crimson  of  plums 

A  long  line  comes 

With  the  long-drawn  sweep  of  the  stirring  drums, 

And  the  answering  rills 

Of  a  thousand  trills 

Are  filling  the  purple  cups  of  the  hills. 

Now  a  rattle  of  hail 

From  the  rising  gale, 

And  the  storm-clouds  sweep  like  a  world's  torn  sail! 

And  the  piccolo's  shriek 

Is  a  lightning  streak, 

While  the  big  bass  booms  as  the  thunders  speak ! 

Now  it  sounds  afar 

Like  the  rush  of  a  car, 

And  a  moon  caresses  the  evening  star; 


EAST  AND    WEST.  47 

And  a  sweet  smile  lies 
With  a  tear  of  surprise 
On  the  quivering  lash  of  the  world's  meek  eyes. 

Like  spirits  blown 

From  an  astral  zone 

Are  drifting  the  wonderful  mists  of  tone. 

And  the  moments  seem 

To  drift  with  the  stream 

Till  I  know  not  whether  I  die  or  dream. 


"Let  us  mount!  let  us  mount!     'T  is  the  spur  of  the 

horn!"— 
Let  us  stay !  let  us  pray !     'T  is  the  peace  of  the  morn. 


PART  V. 

jhiture  Union  of  lEagt  antu  W,t&t. 


YET  once  again  discordant  trumpets  cease 
To  mar  the  music  of  the  hemispheres. 
So  shall  the  future  world  a  rose  of  peace 
Blend  with  the  tender  lily  of  her  prayers, 
And  music  sweet  shall  float  upon  her  airs 
To  melt  all  souls  in  floods  of  happy  tears. 

O  wing  of  the  Empress  of  mountains, 
What  song  shall  we  draw  from  thy  fountains? 
Shall  it  come  with  a  flutter  of  doves? 
Shall  it  foam  with  the  nestling  of  loves? 
Shall  it  soothe  with  the  poison  of  sleep, 
Or  dance  like  a  sun  on  the  deep? 
Nay,  no  prattle  of  children  or  elf, 
But  the  self-hood  unconscious  of  self  ! 

Soul  of  my  inner  face,  face  of  my  race, 
The  play  is  o'er.     Remove  thy  tragic  mask, 
And  show  that  hidden  feature  which  no  god 
Hath  e'er  divined;  till  she,  thy  counterpart, 
48 


EAST  AND    WEST.  49 

Bent  o'er  thy  heart  when  listening  to  thy  sleep. 
Then  in  thine  own  true  dream  she  saw  thee  smile 
With  sunlike  manhood;  and  she  said,  "'Tis  well. 
The  world  has  waited. 
With  my  kiss  he  wakes !  " 

******** 

Breathe  thy  kiss  on  the  world's  twin  soul, 
Mornings  that  sleep  in  a  crystal  vision ! 
Waft  thy  music  from  pole  to  pole, 
Airs  that  sweep  from  the  fields  Elysian; 
Star-planes  lighted  by  Love's  transition! 

Gaze,  O  world,  at  the  sleeping  sea 
Perched  on  thy  castle  in  fond  amazement. 
Open  thy  spirit  to  breezes  free, 
Open  to  whisper  of  love  thy  casement : 
Fling  it  open  from  roof  to  basement. 

Space  is  the  kiss  of  the  breeze's  daughter; 
Kiss  her  gently,  and  worlds  are  one. 
Time  but  the  flashing  of  restless  water; 
Ages  are  lost  when  the  day  is  done 
In  the  infinite  now  of  the  setting  sun. 

Let  us  forget  like  a  chanted  tune 
Shadowy  types  of  the  dying  races. 
History  nods  to  her  ancient  rune. 
Ages  lapse  with  their  tidal  traces, 
Blend  in  the  vision  of  future  faces. 


50  EAST  AND    WEST. 

Fold  like  the  wing  of  a  new-born  creature, 
East  and  West  in  a  Janus  trance ! 
Tear  off  the  mask  of  the  twofold  feature ; 
Kiss  in  the  mirror  with  eyes  askance, 
Love,  Narcissus,  thine  own  sweet  glance. 


God  hath  willed  this  soul  to  be 
Like  twin  branches  of  a  tree, 
Whose  wet  leaves  the  sunset  weaves 
In  one  choral  crown  of  glee. 

Petals  of  infolded  plan, 
Model  of  millennial  man, 
Thine  the  vows  of  bride  and  spouse 
Plighted  since  the  world  began. 

Life  shall  be  a  twofold  game;  — 

Harmony  thy  primal  aim ; 

Individuality 

Twin-born  guerdon  of  thy  fame. 

What  then  shalt  thou  harmonize? 
All  that  force  the  Westerns  prize ;  — 
Masculinity  of  measures, 
Vigilance  of  Argus  eyes. 

Whence  shall  spring  harmonic  norms  ? 
From  the  sun  the  Eastern  warms;  — 


EAST  AND    WEST.  51 

Loving  femininity, 
Fertile  flower-bed  of  forms. 

Then  shall  art  with  beauty  rife 
Melt  into  the  Art  of  Life, 
And  the  marts  of  industry 
Win  for  starving  sons  of  strife. 

Stir  of  mill  like  hum  of  tabor 
Singing  of  goodwill  to  neighbor, 
Exaltation  of  creation, 
Apotheosis  of  Labor ! 

If  true  harmony  is  prized, 
Man  is  self-decentralized; 
Christ's  impersonality 
World-absorbed  and  emphasized ! 

Not  a  crushing  code  of  rules 
For  a  paradise  of  fools; 
But  fresh  joy  of  leaping  fountains 
Mid  the  broken  shafts  of  schools. 

Faith  incredulous  of  creeds, 
Love  is  full  of  bursting  seeds; 
Scatters  showers  of  living  flowers 
Through  a  wilderness  of  weeds. 

So  may  perfect  Art  and  Prayer, 
Life  and  Faith  in  union  rare, 


52  EAST  AND    WEST. 

Build  the  soul  new  tabernacles, 
World-encircling  domes  of  air. 

Age  of  worship  crowned  with  spires, 
Flames  of  purified  desires, 
Consecrate  thy  knights  for  battle 
With  thy  symphony  of  choirs. 

Who  shall  sing  this  song  of  spheres? 
Whose  the  soul's  baptismal  tears? 
Who  anoint  with  tenderest  touches 
Christ's  eternal  wounds  of  spears? 

Thine,  O  thine,  that  martyred  breast, 
White-souled  Virgin  of  the  West, 
Heaven-crowned  sisterhood  of  sorrows, 
Love's  incarnate  Alkahest! 

Who  shall  arm  these  knights  with  flame  ? 
Who  transmit  the  oath-bound  aim? 
Who  shall  crumble  stars  to  powder 
With  the  sceptre  of  God's  name? 

Thou,  O  selfless  self-sworn  priest, 
Soul-wrapped  manhood  of  the  East ! 
Let  thy  heel  with  diamond  lightning 
Blast  the  eyelids  of  the  Beast ! 

Fuse  the  worlds  with  inward  light, 
Faith-fed  kingly  anchorite ! 


EAST  AND    WEST.  53 

Fire  of  Bodhisattwa  Wisdom 
With  the  Sun  of  Love  unite ! 

Thus  may  knighthood  of  defiance 
Consecrate  the  arm  of  science; 
Twin-joined  vigor  of  the  ages, 
Corner-stone  of  God's  reliance. 

Thus  may  Christlike  Mercy  render 
Holiest  .warmth  to  Beauty  tender; 
Twin- joined  womanhood  of  races, 
Sunlike  heart  of  God's  own  splendor. 

Corner-stone  and  sunlike  heart ! 
Strife  in  Wisdom,  Love  in  Art ! 
Thou  art  joined  in  twofold  marriage, 
Links  which  Time  can  never  part ! 


0  unveiled  bride, 

Sweet  other  self  at  my  side, 

1  ask  no  wedding  bliss 

Of  passionate  external  kiss. 

Let  not  the  trembling  pulse  of  lips 

This  purer  ecstasy  eclipse. 

'T  is  not  a  palpitating  form 

I  clasp  to  bosom  warm. 

I  feel  thee  wrap  my  soul 

As  in  the  splendor  of  an  aureole. 


54  EAST  AND    WEST. 

I  breathe  thy  breath  as  through  my  spirit  came 

A  tongue  of  Pentecostal  flame. 

No  human  spouse  e'er  felt 

The  culminating  fire  in  which  I  melt. 

There  let  it  burn 

Like  clouded  incense  from  a  temple  urn; 
And  in  its  fragrant  steam 
Thy  thoughts  unfold  like  angels  in  a  dream, 
Unutterable  things, 
The  fluttering  music  'of  elusive  wings, 
Flashings  of  interspacial  laws 
Wafted  like  webs  of  gauze, 
Bathing  the  room 
In  floods  of  opalescent  bloom ! 
And,  as  the  dead  arise 
In  transformed  drapery  to  open  skies, 
When  wreaths  of  petalled  trumpets  wrap  the  stars 
In  last  triumphal  chords  of  orchestras, 
And  in  the  stern  archangels'  tracks 
The  skies  dissolve  like  fields  of  smoking  wax;  — 
So  from  my  inmost  core 
Shrivelled  like  paper  in  a  furnace  roar, 
Or  rocks  where  lavas  hiss 
From  ^Etna's  treacherous  abyss, 
Rises  a  bloom  of  heavenly  asphodel; 
Bursting  its  elemental  shell 
A  song  of  winge"d  bliss 
As  from  Creation's  chrysalis  — 


EAST  AND    WEST.  55 

A  dim  uncertain  form  divine, 

O  love,  thy  soul  and  mine, 

Draped  in  soft  veils  of  holiness, 

Shrouded  in  Deity's  caress! 

Slowly  it  floats  like  spirit  mist 

By  forests  of  tall  tapers  kissed, 

Slowly  alone 

Up  to  the  gilded  altar's  throne, 

Hovering  there 

Like  a  condensing  universe  of  prayer;  — 

Girt  with  bright-haloed  constellations, 

Memories  of  incarnations 

Glowing  like  fallen  leaves 

Upon  fresh-garnered  sheaves. 

There  for  a  moment  brief 

It  sits  like  God  upon  a  lotus  leaf; 

The  still  unspoken  Word 

Before  Creation  stirred, 

Or  the  transcendant  Dove 

Fell  like  a  ray  of  love ;  — 

Then  fades  in  formless  light 

Too  exquisite  for  human  sight; 

As  when  some  saint  is  lifted  up  and  hurled 

Out  of  this  mortal  world, 

This  temple  transitory 

For  Nature's  unemancipated  priest, 

Into  the  silence  of  Nirwana's  glory, 

Where  there  is  no  more  West  and  no  more  East. 


MINOR  POEMS. 


PASTORAL. 

'NEATH  the  hill,  beside  the  stream 
Stands  a  lowly  shepherd's  cot. 

But  contented  doth  he  seem 
In  his  humble  lot. 

Seldom  strays  the  traveller  here. 

No  one  helps  him  sow  and  reap. 
He,  as  our  Redeemer  dear, 

Loves  to  tend  the  sheep. 

Fragrant  is  his  simple  life, 
Earthly  sin  to  him  unknown ; 

All  his  friends  the  flock  and  fife, 
Otherwise  alone. 

Innocent  devoted  one, 

Would  my  heart  could  be  as  thine  ! 
Sweet  the  crown  for  service  done. 

Lord,  like  his  be  mine  ! 


59 


DECEMBER. 

THE  crafty  wind 

Doth  now  unbind 

The  giant  of  the  winter  blind. 

With  cold  slow  breath 

A  curse  he  saith, 

And  softly  wraps  the  earth  with  death. 

The  hills  make  moan. 

The  birds  are  flown. 

The  leaves  on  barren  graves  are  strewn. 

Or  hanging  sere 

They  mock  and  leer,  — 

The  charnel  spirits  of  the  year. 

And  thus  we  die. 

Our  hopes  are  high ;  — 

But  Time  shall  turn  his  wintry  sky. 

O  bliss!     O  grief! 

To  be  a  leaf, 

And  flutter  for  a  moment  brief ! 


60 


THE   HOUR. 

SOFT  the  purple  night  is  falling 

Over  moor  and  dell. 
Whispered  prayers  of  love  recalling, 

Chants  the  evening  bell. 

Cool  the  hour  when  dear  ones  hieing 

Seek  a  well-known  spot, 
There  to  one  another  sighing 

Of  they  know  not  what. 

But  the  wood-thrush  sighs  and  knows  it 
Where  the  glow-worms  peep, 

And  the  drowsy  west  wind  blows  it 
Where  the  marsh  buds  sleep. 

There  on  tiptoe  moonlight  listens 

To  the  cooing  dove ; 
There  the  silent  dew-drop  glistens 

For  my  waiting  love. 


61 


REQUIEM. 

SPEAK  softly  and  low 

Of  the  dead  that  are  laid  'neath  the  willows  asleep. 
They  have  felt  their  last  pain;   they  have   dealt   their 
last  blow,  — 

Tread  softly  and  weep. 

No  murmur  or  sigh 

Comes  up  from  the  grave  with  a  thrill  or  a  shiver  — 
We  listen  in  vain  for  a  moan  or  a  cry 

From  over  the  river. 

But  soon  we  shall  tread 

The  path  that  they  trod ;  and  the  mantle  of  sleep 
Shall  cover  us  all  as  it  covers  the  dead.  — 

Speak  softly  and  weep  ! 


62 


THE   DRYAD. 

I  WOOED  the  gentle  spirit  from  a  tree, 

And  asked  her,  "  What  art  thou  that  thou  shouldst  be 

So  patient  in  thy  green  eternity? 

"  Why  dost  thou  brood  upon  the  mountain  lone, 
Where  mortal  ne'er  may  hear  thy  plaintive  moan, 
Hear  thy  sweet  sigh,  and  blend  it  with  his  own?  " 

She  answered  like  a  zephyr  soft  and  low, 
"  The  cause  of  my  estate  I  do  not  know. 
I  live  —  am  happy  —  God  hath  willed  it  so. 

"  Think  not,  proud  soul,  that  all  is  planned  for  you. 
Where  men  come  not  bloom  flowers  of  fairest  hue, 
And  Heaven  unfolds  the  same  ethereal  blue." 


ON   OPENING  AN   ALBUM. 

YOUR  flowers  are  dead  :  —  the  fair  sweet  flowers 

You  gave  me  in  the  days  gone  by. 
Not  all  the  cooling  summer  showers 

Could  save  them.     They  were  bom  to  die. 

These  roses  on  their  withered  stem 

Hang  crushed  and  brown  that  bloomed  so  red. 
How  fragrant  when  you  gathered  them  ! 

And  still  their  perfume  is  not  fled. 

No  :  —  and  the  scented  heliotrope, 

Blue-eyed  and  pure  as  maiden's  breath, 

Dear  token  of  our  love  and  hope, 

Lies  faintly  sweet  though  wan  in  death. 

So  like  the  flowers  we  droop  !     Like  these 
The  pink-veined  hope  of  youth  decays ; 

And  maytimes  from  the  apple  trees 
Snow  down  dead  sweets  upon  the  ways. 

Yet  lingers  in  this  vale  of  tears 

Some  fragrance  death  may  not  remove ; 

Yea,  from  a  spirit  crushed  with  years 
One  perfume  sweet  whose  name  is  love. 
64 


ON  OPENING  AN  ALBUM.  65 

So  now  to  you,  though  far  apart, 

In  song  like  scented  leaf,  I  pray, 
O  press  these  verses  to  your  heart 

As  you  would  me  if  I  were  they  ! 


THE   SOUL   QUESTIONS. 

THE  voice  of  the  Present  unheeded 
Is  drowned  in  a  tempest  of  sighs, 

Those  sighs  that  the  fancy  hath  breeded. 
The  Past  is  the  beam  in  our  eyes. 

We  look  o'er  a  garden  unweeded 
For  rapture  of  bloom  to  arise. 

Alas,  for  humanity's  error, 

The  self  that  bewilders  the  brain, 
The  pleasure  that  whirls  in  the  vein, 

And  brings  on  the  phantoms  of  terror, 
The  terrible  demons  of  pain  ! 

The  cities  are  buried  in  gloom. 

The  temple  of  man  is  a  waste  ; 

A  shaft  on  a  desolate  waste. 
He  laughs  like  a  ghost  in  the  tomb 

To  which  he  is  starred.     In  his  haste 
He  prays  for  the  curse  of  his  doom 

As  if  it  were  gold  of  the  graced. 

On  the  beacon  of  hills  is  a  breath, 
But  a  gasp,  of  the  life-giving  air, 
As  it  flees  from  the  rising  mist,  death, 
66 


THE  SOUL   QUESTIONS.  67 

That  blows  through  the  valleys  its  hair, 
The  thoughts  of  its  pestilent  hair ; 
And  soft  to  the  universe  saith, 

"  Behold  me,  ye  fools,  and  despair." 

O  God,  if  delusion  is  all, 

If  fancy  and  pleasure  are  cheating 
And  luring  on  man  to  his  fall, 

If  beauty  be  fickle  and  fleeting, 

If  thought  be  the  worm  in  the  sweeting, 
If  truth  be  a  loosely  built  wall 

Where  doubt  like  an  ocean  is  beating  :  — 

O,  why  didst  Thou  give  us  to  be  ? 

Not  crush  the  dark  seed  of  creation  ? 
Why  suffer  each  doomed  constellation? 

Why  foam  in  thy  querulous  sea ; 

If  all  be  not  blessing  from  thee, 
And  crowned  with  thine  utter  salvation? 


THE   GOLDEN   AGE. 

THIS  world  was  not 

As  it  now  is  seen. 
It  once  was  clothed 

With  a  deeper  green  ; 
And  rarer  gems 

Than  the  ice-caves  hold 
The  sea  brought  up 

On  the  sands  of  gold. 

But  rust  of  ages, 

The  breath  of  Time, 
The  meadows  covered 

With  early  rime. 
And  the  wild  grass  faded, 

The  gems  were  gone, 
And  the  wave  fell  cold 

As  it  thundered  on. 

In  bygone  ages 
The  world  was  fair, 

And  the  moon-god  played 
With  her  golden  hair ; 
68 


THE   GOLDEN  AGE.  69 

And  the  paling  stars 

With  love-white  arms 
Bent  down  to  welcome 

A  sister's  charms. 


The  air  lay  sweet 

With  the  breath  of  pines, 
The  hill-tops  glowed 

With  their  wealth  of  mines. 
And  sweet,  and  low, 

And  rich,  and  free, 
The  wild  dark  music 

Stole  over  the  sea. 


And  the  sea-waves  laughed 

At  the  saffron  moon. 
And  the  musk  rose  smiled 

With  her  soul  of  June. 
And  the  golden  age 

Of  nature's  years 
No  warning  heard 

Of  her  coming  tears. 

But  the  hand  of  man 
Was  the  sword  of  death. 

A  poison  lurked 

In  his  savage  breath. 


70  THE    GOLDEN  AGE. 

And  the  wealth  of  years 
And  the  glow  of  years 

Were  drowned  in  a  flood 
Of  swelling  tears. 

The  world  was  fair 

In  the  days  of  yore ;  — 
But  that  golden  age 

Shall  come  no  more. 
The  sun  may  shine, 

And  wild  flowers  bloom ;  — 
But  the  goal  of  all 

Is  the  open  tomb ;  — 

The  end  of  all 

Is  the  silent  grave. 
And  beauty  lies 

In  the  cold  still  wave. 
And  the  world  shall  harden 

The  hearts  of  men 
Till  it  hear  the  voice 

Of  its  Christ  again. 


THE   SNOWDROP. 

POOR  snowdrop,  early  for  a  snowdrop  born; 

The  February  sun  is  high,  and  winds 

Steal  from  the  feigning  South  with  breath  of  spring.  — 

But  frost-gods  only  hide.     Sweet  flower,  they  wait 

To  nip  thee.     See,  snow  crusts  the  fallow  fields; 

And  yonder  schoolboy  cracks  the  thinning  ice. 

Behold  what  gloom  of  cloud  hath  chid  the  West. 

Alas,  I  think  I  hear  the  cold  wind  sigh 

In  dread  March  days  among  the  naked  trees. 

The  woodman  still  doth  fell  the  kitchen  log; 

And  in  his  winter  nest  the  squirrel  hides. 

I  see  no  glad  spring  bird,  save  chick-a-dee, 

Who  bravely  hops  along  the  leafless  bough. 

Snowdrop,  this  night  the  North  King's  icy  breath 

Will  blast  thy  budding  hopes.     Then,  pretty  flower, 

I  '11  pluck  thee  from  thy  root;  and  thou  shalt  lie 

Beside  the  one  I  love,  and  wake  warm  smiles 

From  her  pale  face  at  thought  of  me  and  thee. 

The  sight  of  thy  young  life  may  quicken  her 

To  health  and  hope.     Sweet  silent  messenger 

Of  love,  I  envy  while  I  pity  thee ! 

There:  —  tremblest  in  my  hand,  my  hard  rude  hand? 

Thou  soon  shalt  lie  upon  her  gentle  breast; 

And  thou  shalt  die  where  I  have  prayed  to  die. 


LOVE'S  YOUTH. 

O  DELICATE  harp  of  Love,  from  whose  gold  strings 
The  poets  and  the  gods  have  deigned  to  waken 

That  classic  hymn  which  softly  o'er  me  flings 
A  fragrant  dew  from  morning  willows  shaken 

By  Cupid's  hand,  these  dreaming  eyes  shall  praise 
The  Fair  whose  sway  decreed  thy  glad  creation, 

Who  laughed  to  hear  the  eager  boyish  lays 
That  woke  thy  heart  with  innocent  elation, 

When  years  were  tranquil  as  an  olive  leaf 
By  sunny  Argive  seas.     A  broken  shaft 

To-day  we  cherish  in  our  shallow  grief. 

We  weep  for  thought  of  one  who  ever  laughed. 

Sing  for  me  once  again,  and  let  thy  waves 

Ripple  upon  my  bosom  as  a  beach. 
Lend  me  thy  notes  that  hushed  the  echoing  caves; 

And  calm  the  frenzied  forests  with  thy  speech. 

Call  up  a  strain  of  melody  so  sweet 
That  broken  hearts  shall  vibrate  like  a  rod 

Of  mellow  silver.     Let  the  cadence  beat, 
And  die  in  wonder  at  the  throne  of  God. 
72 


LOVE'S  YOUTH.  73 

O  harp  of  youthful  Love !     If  these  pure  tones 

Be  dumb  forever,  if  no  sunshine  breathes 
Through  airs  of  passion,  if  thy  lips  in  moans 
Must  turn  to  ashes  in  these  clouded  zones, 

Take  back,  O  harp,  my  crown  of  laurel  wreaths ! 


SONNET. 

MY    PERFECT   TRUTH. 

SHALL  love  my  angel  be  ?     Or  shall  the  flame 

Of  wan  ambition  singe  her  tender  wings  ? 

Why  do  I  scoff  at  life  to  say  deep  things, 
And  crush  my  heart  to  yield  a  bloodless  name? 
If  thou  wert  dead,  O  God !  what  bitter  blame 

To  yean  these  thoughts  self-barbed  with  cruel  stings ! 

O  let  me  nest  near  some  warm  soul  that  sings; 
Not  starve  beneath  a  lone  pale  shaft  of  fame ! 
Yea,  were  I  regent  of  the  potent  lore 

That  lamps  chaste  sages'  swoon,  or  crowned  to  see 
The  white-hot  diamond  secret  at  the  core 

Of  winnowed  wealth  of  worlds  that  yearn  to  be ;  — 
Then  would  I  scorn  these  tempters  o'er  and  o'er, 

And  clasp  my  perfect  truth  in  only  thee. 


74 


SONNET. 

MY   SACRIFICE. 

SEE  how  the  Northern  sky  with  gauzy  green 
The  pink  pearl  blushes  of  her  bosom  pales, 
And  hides  her  nuns  of  stars  with  hasty  veils, 

Whose  wanton  eyes  wink  through  the  futile  screen, 

And  sparkle  kisses  to  the  moon  serene 

As  through  cool  bays  of  blue  he  veers  and  sails 
To  lift  the  rainbow  lace  in  countless  trails 

That  bar  the  chamber  of  his  midnight  queen. 

So  have  I  hid  when  fond  desire  my  breast 

Hath  stained  to  crimson.     So  I  veil  these  sighs 

Until  some  tear  that  will  not  be  repressed 

Speaks  through  the  quivering  fringes  of  mine  eyes. 

Then  like  a  god  thou  comest  from  the  West 
To  sip  the  fragrance  of  my  sacrifice. 


75 


SONNET. 

FUJI  AT   SUNRISE. 

STARTLING  the  cool  gray  depths  of  morning  air 
She  throws  aside  her  counterpane  of  clouds, 
And  stands  half  folded  in  her  silken  shrouds 

With  calm  white  breast  and  snowy  shoulder  bare. 

High  o'er  her  head  a  flush  all  pink  and  rare 
Thrills  her  with  foregleam  of  an  unknown  bliss, 
A  virgin  pure  who  waits  the  bridal  kiss, 

Faint  with  expectant  joy  she  fears  to  share. 

Lo,  now  he  comes,  the  dazzling  prince  of  day ! 
Flings  his  full  glory  o'er  her  radiant  breast; 
Enfolds  her  to  the  rapture  of  his  rest, 

Transfigured  in  the  throbbing  of  his  ray. 

O  fly,  my  soul,  where  love's  warm  transports  are; 

And  seek  eternal  bliss  in  yon  pink  kindling  star ! 


76 


SONNET. 

HER   LOVE. 

I  WOULD  thou  wert  a  moon,  and  I  thy  cloud 
To  wrap  in  rifted  tangles  of  my  tresses 
Thy  soul's  white  naked  mirror,  lave  caresses 

Of  soft  pale  pleading  lips  where  thou  art  browed 

With  coronets  of  constellations  proud 

Meet  for  thy  regal  thought;  blue  wildernesses 
Spreading  eternal  couch  where  love  confesses 

Her  airy  penetrations,  where  the  shroud 

Of  my  translucent  bosom  kindling  gleams, 
Melted  upon  thy  flame  in  blissful  swoon, 

Fused  with  the  silver  passion  of  thy  dreams; 

Thy  heart's  strung  harp  a- throb  with  hidden  tune 

Winged  from  the  primal  pulse  of  God's  own  themes. 
O  joy  to  be  a  cloud,  and  thou  my  moon! 


77 


REPROACH. 

PLEASURE  has  left  me, 

Happiness  gone. 
Thou  hast  bereft  me, 

I  am  alone. 
Sweetly  the  summer  night 

Heard  thy  farewell; 
And  the  moon's  tender  light 

On  thy  face  fell. 

Thou  hast  betrayed  me ; 

Yet  I  forgive, 
For  thou  hast  made  me 

Thine  while  I  live. 
Though  my  heart 's  broken, 

Take  thou  my  last 
Sorrowful  token 

Due  to  the  past. 


If  it  be  pleasure 
Brightens  thy  sun, 

Let  not  its  measure 
Lawlessly  run. 
78 


REPROACH.  79 

Life  hath  her  duties 

Stern  and  unchanged 
Moulding  her  beauties 

Sadly  estranged. 


Think  not,  thou  fair  one, 

Love  hath  grown  cold. 
Still  doth  he  bear  one 

Thine  as  of  old. 
But  I  shall  never 

Happiness  see 
Wedded  forever 

Lyra,  with  thee. 

Life  has  grown  dreary 

Since  thou  art  gone, 
Lingering  weary, 

Hopelessly  on. 
Ne'er  will  I  blame  thee, 

Ne'er  till  I  die. 
Slander  may  shame  thee, 

Never  will  I. 


Dull  was  my  spirit 
To  thy  young  breast 

Fluttering  near  it, 
Dove,  to  thy  nest. 


80  REPROACH. 

Was  my  emotion 
Sombre  and  cold? 

Billow  of  ocean 
Hoary  and  old? 

Jollity's  glitter 

Dazzled  thine  eye, 
Turned  from  the  bitter 

Sweetness  to  try. 
One  you  discover 

Fairer  to  see. 
Never  a  lover 

Truer  to  thee. 

Soon  shall  I  moulder 

Deep  in  the  grave, 
Or  in  the  colder 

Tomb  of  the  wave. 
Lyra,  forget  not 

Passion  so  true. 
False  one,  regret  not 

I  bade  thee  adieu. 


THE   WOOD   DOVE. 

GENTLE  purple-throated  dove 
Nesting  in  the  bamboo  grove, 

Cooing,  cooing,  cooing; 
I've  a  secret  for  you,  dear. 
Let  me  whisper  in  your  ear. 
Let  no  other  creature  hear; 

'T  would  be  my  undoing. 

Tenderly  pressed,  pressed,  pressed 
Soft  in  your  nest,  nest,  nest, 
Carefully  list,  list,  list, 
If  I  be  kissed,  kissed,  kissed, 
If  I  be  - 

There,  you  know  my  secret  now, 
You,  too,  on  the  topmost  bough 

Wooing,  wooing,  wooing. 
Did  you  tremble  when  he  came? 
Did  you  feel  his  lips  a-flame? 
But  you  shall  not  know  his  name; 

'T  would  be  my  undoing. 
81 


82  THE    WOOD  DOVE. 

Tenderly  pressed,  pressed,  pressed 
Close  to  his  breast,  breast,  breast, 
Under  your  nest,  nest,  nest, 
There  shall  I  rest,  rest,  rest, 
There  shall  I 


SEPTEMBER. 

THE  last  light  of  summer  hath  faded  and  gone. 
The  sweet  autumn  days  come  enchantingly  on. 
The  breasts  of  the  trees  don  a  joy-colored  hue. 
The  sky  is  a  curtain  of  mystical  blue. 

These  airs,  they  caress  like  a  maiden's  soft  hand. 
The  mountains  lie  purple,  and  misty,  and  grand. 
And  forests  are  mellow,  and  gardens  sing  gay; 
And  Nature  is  smiling  this  fair  autumn  day. 

Goodbye  to  poor  summer.     No  doubt  she  did  good; 
Though  sentinel  birches  were  scorched  in  the  wood. 
Her  heart  was  too  warm;  but  she  meant  to  do  well. 
And  we  bade  her  goodbye  as  the  mercury  fell. 

Hail,  goddess  of  autumn,  I  see  through  the  sky 
Sweep  on  in  the  cloudlets  resplendently  by. 
Thy  form  is  half  hid ;  but  I  know  thou  art  there 
By  the  sweet-scented  breath  which  is  borne  in  the  air. 

Come,  apples  and  peaches,  and  fall  from  the  trees. 
And  ripe  yellow  plums,  tumble  down  at  your  ease. 
And,  clusters  of  grapes  hanging  blue  on  the  vine, 
Come  down  and  be  eaten,  or  pressed  for  pure  wine. 

83 


84  SEPTEMBER. 

O  sweet  the  long  lashes  of  sunny-eyed  days. 
Their  bosoms  are  hid  in  the  mantles  of  haze. 
How  cool  is  their  mossy  green  lap  in  the  shade 
Of  golden-haired  oaks  with  their  rock-maple  braid. 

O  lordly  September,  thou  prince  of  the  hills, 
The  loyal  green  meadows  grow  gold  with  thy  thrills. 
The  mellow  sheaves  fall  for  the  harvesters  blythe. 
And  I  hear  the  sharp  tinkle  of  whet  on  the  scythe. 

Let  's  think  not  of  days  when  this  beauty  shall  pass, 
And  the  splendor  fade  out  from  the  hills  and  the  grass, 
When  through  the  bare  tree-tops  the  wind  whistles  shrill, 
And  the  hoar  frost  at  morning  is  white  on  the  sill. 

No,  no.     Torrid  summer  is  over  and  gone. 
The  fair  autumn  days  come  enchantingly  on. 
Then  bask  in  the  sunshine,  or  sit  in  the  shade 
And  watch  the  bright  clouds  as  they  color  and  fade. 


NEW  YEAR'S   EVE,   1875. 

RELENTLESS  Time,  dear  friends,  has  breathed  again 
His  wintry  mood  o'er  Nature  and  on  men. 
Long  since  the  recreant  sun's  declining  power 
Has  clipped  the  merry  daylight  hour  by  hour. 
Long  since  the  feathered  tribes  on  tireless  wing 
Have  sought  the  regions  of  perpetual  spring. 
Now  bound  in  crystal  chains  the  woodland  lake 

And  laughing  streamlet  hushed  to  silence  lie. 
Now  earthward  softly  floats  the  glittering  flake, 

And  gathering  storm-clouds  drift  across  the  sky. 
Dead  in  the  hollows  lie  the  autumn  leaves, 

And  through  the  naked  tree-tops  softly  stirs 
The  spirit  of  the  dying  Year,  and  grieves 

In  slow,  sad  moaning  to  the  Universe. 

Not  so  man's  soul.     Than  all  the  year  beside 

Dearer  his  home  is  when  the  cold  winds  blow; 
Great  his  domestic  joy  in  winter  tide, 

And  bright  his  hearth  as  piles  the  drifting  snow. 
'T  is  then  the  happy  children  hail  the  day 

That  Christ  a  little  child  like  them  was  born. 
'T  is  then  the  old  are  young,  and  young  are  gay 

With  the  felicities  of  New  Year's  morn. 

85 


86  NEW   YEAR'S  EVE,  1875. 

We  stand  indeed  'twixt  two  eternities 

Of  Time ;  and  one  has  vanished  like  the  dew. 
Deep  in  its  breast  the  stellar  systems  grew; 

And  in  its  dead  arms  now  the  last  sun  lies. 

A  million  ages  drop  from  life  and  mind 
As  yesterday,  when  they  are  past,  and  all 
The  planets  circle  at  their  central  call, 

And  never  note  the  years  they  leave  behind. 

The  slow  earth  cracked  and  shrank  mid  rains  of  fire, 
Till  through  the  dull  mephitic  atmosphere 
Young  Life  arose,  and  whispered,  "  I  am  here  !  " 

And  thrilled  the  Universe  with  new  desire. 

Far  in  the  sand  a  sculptured  stone  appears. 

Deep  on  the  halls  of  kings  has  grown  the  mould. 

O,  Love  is  ever  young,  and  ever  old; 
And  hand  in  hand  with  Time  walk  hates  and  fears. 
Deep  in  the  wondrous  strata  of  the  earth 

Bones  of  successive  ages  crystallized, 

Humanity  lies  only  half-disguised. 
A  chipped  flint  tells  us  of  a  nation's  birth. 
From  out  the  mother  liquor  of  events 

Precipitates  the  dim  historic  tale. 

And  thou,  Old  Year,  hast  passed  within  the  vale, 
And  night  shuts  o'er  thee  with  her  spangled  tents. 

We  stand  upon  the  threshold  of  an  ocean, 
And  hear  hard  by  the  foaming  waters  break 

O'er  sunken  reefs.     We  feel  the  wild  commotion: 
And  the  salt  wind  leaves  damp  spray  in  its  wake. 


NEW   YEAR'S  EVE,  1875.  87 

But  like  a  magic  curtain  shuts  the  mist 

That  open  sea  forever  from  our  eyes, 
Rich  argosies  that  sail  before  the  East, 

The  infinite  horizon  of  the  skies. 
Ho !  Captain  of  yon  bark,  so  stanch  and  brave ! 

What  noble  aim  has  fortified  your  sail  ? 
What  guide-post  have  you  on  the  trackless  wave  ? 

And  points  your  compass  at  the  moral  pole  ? 
Peer  long  into  unknown  futurity ! 

But  shallow  seas  and  rocks  thou  needst  not  fear 

When  full  equipped;  for  in  that  clouded  sphere 
Thy  will  alone  is  master  of  the  sea. 

'Twixt  two  eternities  of  Time  we  stand; 
But  three  infinities  of  Space.     Where  lives 

A  human  soul,  in  whatsoever  land, 

Our  heart  to  him  a  joyful  greeting  gives. 

Yet  on  the  wearied  continents  the  bounds 
Of  artificial  custom  wax  and  wane, 
As  war  drifts  o'er  them  like  a  hurricane, 

And  death's  hot  hell  unleashes  all  her  hounds. 

O,  then  we  sadly  find,  with  all  our  art, 
And  scientific  pride,  and  conscious  boast, 
He  falls  the  farthest  who  has  climbed  the  most, 

And  man  is  but  a  savage  yet  at  heart. 

E'en  as  an  earthquake  comes  unheralded, 
Or  some  volcano  splits  the  trembling  skies, 
We  know  not  when  the  giant  will  arise, 

And  frighted  earth  be  steeped  in  gory  red. 


I  NEW   YEAR'S  EVE,   1873. 

Then  things  we  held  most  dear  shall  pass  away, 
And  life  be  crushed  beneath  an  iron  spell, 
And  earth  shall  groan,  as  when  Atlantis  fell, 

And  all  creation  dreamed  of  Judgment  Day. 

Poor  France !  Thou  wast  the  first  to  feel  the  blow, 
Caught  in  the  specious  tyrant's  silken  net. 
Thou  hast  the  ghost  of  Freedom  only  yet; 

And  in  thy  breast  too  many  hot  sparks  glow. 

Thy  Teuton  master  stands  with  frowning  brow 
Like  Jove  before  the  Titans.  In  his  hands 
He  holds  the  keys  of  Fate.  To  his  commands 

The  trembling  kings  of  earth  reluctant  bow. 

An  unread  mystic  obelisk  he  stands. 
But  when  his  shadow  on  the  dial  falls, 
Grim  shouts  of  death  shall  shake  Valhalla's  halls, 

And  pyramids  be  crumbled  into  sands. 

Yet,  like  a  crouching  monster,  in  the  East 
Slowly  the  Slavic  power  unfolds  its  coils; 
And  effete  Asia  falls  into  its  toils 

A  wounded  bird,  that  can  no  more  resist. 

Or,  like  a  tidal  wave  its  course  shall  be 
Above  the  Aryan  cradle  of  the  world, 
Until,  against  the  vast  Himalyas  hurled, 

To  Heaven  shall  rise  the  spray  of  that  wild  sea. 

Let  Britain  now  usurp  the  old  domain 
Of  dread  Sesostris  and  the  Ptolemies, 

And  found  that  Eastern  Empire,  which  in  vain 
Napoleon  dreamed  of  and  designed  for  his. 


NEW   YEAR'S  EVE,   1873.  89 

Then  face  to  face  will  meet  the  mighty  foes 
For  the  death  grapple.     Saintly  Pity's  knell 
Will  sound  in  shrieks.     And  in  that  lurid  hell 

A  thousand  years  will  melt  away  like  snows. 

As  some  great  continental  artery 

Empties  its  flood  upon  the  coming  tide, 
And  in  that  grand  collision  far  and  wide 

Tiptoe  to  Heaven  stands  up  the  frothing  sea, 

So  shall  the  struggle  of  the  nations  be 

When  flood-gates  burst  by  press  of  passion  high. 

•    The  earth's  wild  wail  shall  plash  against  the  sky, 

Yea,  shake  the  dwellers  of  the  galaxy. 

And  can  we,  children  of  the  Island  race, 
Stand  far  aloof,  like  eagles  in  a  cloud, 
And  hear  the  rushing  of  the  conflict  loud 

Like  some  dull  echo  off  in  shoreless  space  ? 

Nay,  in  the  network  of  Atlantic  coasts 

The  ties  of  brotherhood  too  close  are  knit; 
And  when  the  trial  comes,  prepared  for  it 

America  shall  marshal  all  her  hosts. 


GOD'S  FORESTS. 

LET  us  give  thanks  for  friendly  solitudes 

Of  dark  primeval  woods, 

Where  jaded  kings  of  men 

As  at  a  shrine  may  charge  themselves  again 

With  rays  magnetic 

Of  fire  prophetic, 

Currents  of  inspiration 

That  circulate  through  God's  unspoiled  creation. 

'T  is  well  the  human  soul 

Is  nature's  final  goal; 

That  worlds  dissolve  in  time's  relentless  void, 

And  suns  should  be  destroyed 

To  yield  one  drop  of  penitential  bliss, 

Or  the  sweet  perfume  of  Christ's  pardoning  kiss. 

Yet  flesh-spun  bodies 
Dim  not  the  sphere  where  God  is. 
Nor  are  these  care-worn  streets  the  places 
Where  fall  the  gentlest  dews  of  spiritual  graces. 
The  fevered  pulse  of  over-nourished  wealth 
Bodes  not  of  health. 
Nor  is  it  Christian  life 
To  glory  in  the  elemental  strife, 
90 


GOD'S  FORESTS.  91 

Inherited  from  birth, 

'Twixt  man  and  earth. 

Or  why 

Boast  of  our  eagerness  to  multiply 

These  sense-distracted  strings, 

That  sound  no  newborn  note  of  hopeful  things, 

But  as  in  dreams 

Babble  the  self-same  themes? 

O  pity !  that  our  toil 

Sunk  in  this  precious  acreage  of  soil 

Should  feed,  ere  harvest  day  begins, 

The  wasting  conflagration  of  our  sins ! 

Better  the  unripe  times 

Of  pregnant  Tertiary  climes 

Where  the  slow-ebbing  waters  lay 

Upon  rich  mines  of  vegetable  clay ! 

Is  there  no  flaw 

In  title  of  a  self-consuming  law? 

Play  we  the  tyrant  less 

In  thin  disguise  of  democratic  dress? 

Who  gave  the  right 

To  disinherit  man  for  revels  of  a  night? 

And  am  I  free  to  desecrate  my  home, 

As  Nero  burned  his  Rome? 

God  made  the  mountains  lone 

Crowned  with  the  nimbus  of  a  cooler  zone 

For  evening  worship  of  the  weary  plain; 


92  GOD'S  FORESTS. 

And  tilted  up  their  sides 

To  give  the  impulse  to  His  founts  of  rain; 

And  clothed  them  with  His  robe  of  living  green, 

And  folded  them  in  gauze  of  misty  sheen, 

As  lovers  deck  their  brides : 

Full-orbed,  and  mellow  in  their  juicy  youth; 

Not  swept  by  sudden  flood 

Of  hot  intemperate  blood, 

Nor  wan  with  limp  distress 

And  quick  exhausted  by  their  bald  excess; 

But  fresh  and  moist  like  ever  vernal  truth : 

Yielding  a  sympathetic  tear 

For  every  crisis  of  the  tragic  year, 

Saving  earth's  tidal  flow 

For  daily  bounty  to  the  fields  below, 

Or  spreading  kindly  wing  of  storm  superb 

To  shield  each  parching  herb, 

Even  as  planes  of  unseen  spirit  brood 

O'er  thirsty  deserts  of  our  human  mood. 

Caught  in  their  net  of  roots,  as  in  a  cloud, 

The  small  drops  slip 

With  many  a  sob  and  drip 

Down  the  draped  bosoms  of  the  granite -browed ; 

Till  with  shy  looks 

Of  fairies  gliding  from  a  hundred  nooks 

They  leap  together 

In  swift  cool  plashing  of  the  hidden  brooks. 

Now  bolder-hearted, 


GOD'S  FORESTS.  93 

Skipping  from  dewy  fringes  of  the  heather, 

As  tears  of  joy  escape  in  clearing  weather 

The  soft  lids  parted, 

Or  children  who  should  roam 

Unconscious  of  their  long  deserted  home, 

So  hand  in  hand, 

A  happy  laughing  band, 

They  dance  upon  the  gardens  of  the  land. 

So  shall  the  gladsome  music  of  their  bliss 

Breathe  life  upon  man's  wearied  industries. 

No  laggards  they, 

Or  careless  drones  upon  a  wanton  way, 

But  ever  helpful  in  their  lightest  play. 

Whether  in  moments  still 

Of  dreamy  mood  on  heaven-reflecting  lawn, 

Or  racing  like  a  startled  fawn 

At  whistle  of  the  mill, 

Or  in  the  frenzy  of  their  maddest  reels 

Churning  the  curds  of  froth  from  circling  wheels, 

Or  far,  far  down 

Lightening  with  laughter  of  their  lips 

The  stately  march  of  heavy-laden  ships 

Toward  the  town;  — 

Gladly  they  water  every  hopeful  soil 

Of  honest  human  toil, 

Till  blended  with  the  elemental  seas 

God  grants  them  well-earned  peace. 


94  GOD'S  FORESTS. 

So  let  us  thank  Him  for  these  hills  of  pine, 

The  voice  divine 

That  echoes  in  His  plan 

For  self -bound  man; 

And  from  His  purer  ways 

In  nature's  sweet  unbroken  peace 

May  we  behold  the  law  of  our  release 

In  life  of  thankful  use  and  reverential  praise. 


LOVE  AND   MUSIC. 

GOD  spoke ! 

His  breath  upon  cold  planes  of  space  congealed, 
Like  morning's  rising  wreath  of  smoke 
Above  a  vernal  field ! 

It  was  the  piercing  Word 
That  the  long  shining  coils  of  Chaos  stirred ! 
It  blossomed  like  a  snowdrop  from  a  frozen  sod  - 
The  word  was  God ! 

Yet  in  the  very  bosom  of  this  Law 

A  blazing  star  I  saw, 

Whose  sympathetic  glow 
Melted  the  crystals  of  that  universal  snow 

Into  one  blinding  human  mood  of  thaw. 

It  was  the  message  of  the  Holy  Dove, 
The  unity  of  Love ! 

So  in  our  crowns  of  praise 
Woven  in  soulful  moments  of  our  earthly  days 
I  know  the  circling  secret  of  a  joy  transcends 
The  ministry  of  thought  for  colder,  clearer  ends ! 

95 


%  LOVE  AND  MUSIC. 

Ah,  Music,  thine 

The  throbbing,  bleeding,  unifying  heart 
That  burns  within  the  central  shrine 

Of  perfect  Art! 

And  speech, —  O,  speech !  — 
Lies  like  a  pure  white  maiden  out  of  reach  — 
Farther  and  farther  down 

She  circles  like  a  falling  crown. 

And  from  this  sensitive  and  rare 
Harp  of  the  unarticulated  air 
A  soft  rose-scented  cloud  of  beauty  swells, 
As  from  a  myriad  nodding  fairy  bells 

By  breath  of  morning  rung, 
As  if  each  ether-atom  had  a  tongue. 

Ah,  Music,  tell  us 
Harmonious  secrets  that  shall  make  speech  jealous. 

Let  poets  crawl 
Over  the  dusty  mountains  of  yon  ball ! 

Let  utmost  fire  of  verses  run 
With  hiss  of  rockets  to  the  absorbing  sun ! 

They  have  no  words 
To  match  the  spontaneous  eloquence  of  birds. 

Their  whispers  vainly  drift  like  trees 
Upon  the  torrents  of  the  astral  seas. 

And  when  the  Sun  in  moody  frowns  and  smiles 
The  universe  inbreathes, 
Or  shoots  coronal  wreaths 


LOVE  AND  MUSIC.  97 

In  maddening  radiance  through  a  million  miles, 
The  master  of  the  lyre  alone  shall  hear  that  spell 
Like  some  rapt  maiden  listening  to  a  white  reverber- 
ating shell. 

Thought  leaps  beyond 
The  painful  cycle  of  a  finite  bond, 
Swept  to  a  hot  magnetic  plane, 
Like  smoke  of  burning  worlds  caught  in  a  hurricane. 

So,  Music,  thine  the  deeper,  truer  word 
God  in  the  temple  of  His  silence  heard 

When  sense  was  born. 
No  outward  broken  symbol  angels  knew. 
With  one  harmonious  throb  of  Love  they  flew 
Upon  the  pearly  bosom  of  that  primal  morn. 


AT   HER  TOMB. 

THE  forests  hang  sober, 

The  winds  mutter  dread. 
They  speak  to  my  heart, 

But  my  heart  it  is  dead. 
Like  breath  of  a  spirit 

They  sigh  through  the  trees, 
But  my  sorrow  is  deaf 

To  the  grief  of  the  breeze. 

Far  off  in  the  woodland 

Is  dug  a  new  grave. 
My  soul  is  there  buried; 

No  saviour  to  save ! 
There  violets  murmur 

A  fragrant  farewell; 
And  the  cricket's  low  chanting 

Resounds  through  the  dell. 

I  lie  on  my  bosom, 
And  sob  to  their  sound; 

My  cheek  in  the  grass, 

And  my  lips  to  the  ground. 
98 


AT  HER    TOMB.  99 

O  hearts  may  be  broken, 

And  bitter  tears  come; 
But  the  dead  cannot  hear  thee. 

They  sleep  and  are  dumb. 

Hang  out  thy  red  lantern 

0  star  in  the  East, 

That  the  morning  may  break 

And  my  soul  be  released ! 
But  the  mist  only  hangs 

Thicker  yet  on  the  night; 
And  I  hear  a  low  sob 

As  it  stifles  thy  light. 

Is  it  winds  that  I  fancy 

Are  lisping  my  name  ? 
On  the  cross  at  her  head 

Seems  to  burn  a  pale  flame. 
And  a  horror  has  seized  me, 

A  fear  and  a  thrill, 
That  the  souls  of  the  buried 

Are  nigh  to  us  still. 

Ah  no,  hollow  chamber ! 

Farewell,  thou  dear  gleam ! 
'T  was  a  fancy  deranged 

By  the  lull  of  a  dream. 
But  I  call  thee,  and  shudder, 

1  writhe,  and  I  moan 
That  thy  spirit  should  vanish 

And  leave  me  alone. 


TELEPATHY. 

O  WOULD  we  were  downy  white  feathers, 

Or  gossamer  fabrics  of  laces, 
To  float  through  the  stratum  of  weathers 

To  the  calm  of  the  infinite  spaces; 
To  linger  like  stars  which  the  peaks  at  morn 

Compel  to  receive  their  caresses 
On  the  low  gray  couch  where  the  day  is  born, 
And  wrapped  in  the  gold  of  Aurora's  tresses ! 
O,  whether  the  world  be  weary 

We  'd  care  not  a  snap  of  a  finger; 
You  on  Dhawalagiri, 
And  I  on  Kunchinjinga. 

On  the  breasts  of  the  snowy  Himalyas 

Firm  rounded  in  virginal  fashion, 
We  Jd  burn  like  the  crimson  of  dahlias 

At  the  twin  pink  foci  of  passion; 
You  with  a  rainbow  arch  beneath 

And  the  Milky  Way  to  lie  on, 
With  the  Zodiac  for  a  bridal  wreath, 

And  the  diamond  brooch  of  the  great  Orion. 

100 


TELEPATHY.  101 

Ah,  whether  the  world  be  weary 
We  'd  care  not  a  snap  of  a  finger; 

You  on  Dhawalagiri, 
And  I  on  Kunchinjinga. 

Away  from  the  curses  and  crazes 
And  deserts  of  vulgar  desire ! 
To  know  the  impalpable  mazes 

Are  the  exquisite  centres  of  fire ! 
Where  the  spirit  can  doff  the  world's  deceit, 

And  stand  in  its  naked  glory, 
And  woo  in  the  white  of  a  native  heat, 
And  not  in  the  vows  of  a  lying  story. 
There,  whether  the  world  be  weary 

We  Jd  care  not  the  snap  of  a  finger; 
You  on  Dhawalagiri, 
And  I  on  Kunchinjinga. 

A  fig  for  the  standard  ascetic ! 

We  'd  crave  no  intangible  blisses. 
On  the  ray  of  a  current  magnetic 

I  could  feel  the  throb  of  your  kisses; 
I  could  hold  you  close  as  a  sweet  pea  vine 

With  twisted  tendrils  a-quiver, 
I  could  drink  your  breath  as  a  spicy  wine, 
As  a  thirsty  desert  absorbs  a  river. 
So,  whether  the  world  be  weary 

We  'd  care  not  a  snap  of  a  finger; 
You  on  Dhawalagiri, 
And  I  on  Kunchinjinga. 


102  TELEPATHY. 

Were  not  this  the  proof  of  divinity 
To  love  without  limit  or  measure, 
To  raise  to  the  bliss  of  infinity 

The  Tantalus  torture  of  pleasure? 
For  the  new-blown  rose  of  your  cheek  shall  pale, 

And  buds  dry  up  with  their  juices. 
But  this  fountain  of  youth  shall  never  fail. 
The  angels  know  its  immortal  uses. 
Come,  whether  the  world  be  weary 
Let 's  care  not  a  snap  of  a  finger, 
You  on  Dhawalagiri, 
And  I  on  Kunchinjinga. 


REVERIE. 

WHERE  moonlight  is  stealing 
Through  juniper  branches^  I  stand; 

And  my  heart 
Is  wrapped  in  the  feeling 
That  falls  from  some  wonderful  land 
Where  thou  art. 

I  mirror  thy  sweetness 
In  fancy  upon  the  blue  heaven 

Afar; 

And  sigh  for  the  fleetness 
Beside  thee  to  float  that  is  given 
A  star. 

Cold  mist  like  a  spirit 
Blown  in  from  the  East  settles  over 

The  sea. 

Sweet  music :  —  I  hear  it 
Borne  far  from  some  winge"d  sea-rover 
To  me. 

Like  hope  in  the  distance, 
To  silver  the  sorrow  of  night 
With  her  ray, 
103 


104  REVERIE. 

A  ghostly  existence 
The  beacon  is  glimmering  bright 
On  the  bay. 

Yet  little  I  reckon 
Of  music  or  moonlight  redeeming 

The  sea; 

Of  starlight  or  beacon. 
My  loved  one,  I  only  am  dreaming 
Of  thee. 


IN   THE   AURA. 

IN  the  marble  crypts  of  the  clouds  I  would  lay  me  to 

sleep. 
Enwrapped  in  their  foaming  shrouds  I  would  laugh,  I 

would  weep 

At  the  floating  dance  of  my  soul  like  a  buoyant  feather, 
Where  far  above  in  the  fire-blue  dome  of  the  weather 
Up  tossed  on  the  ample  pools  of  its  deep- dyed  spaces 
Would  eddy  the  maple  leaves  of  the  passionate  faces 
Who  kissed  their  hearts  away  in  a  burnt-out  Past; 
And  ashen  motives  of  deeds  in  a  stare  aghast 
Upthrown  to  this  world  of  shades  from  their  astral  tombs. 
Like  wreaths  of  a  curling  smoke  shall  their  faint  per- 
fumes 

Expand  to  the  rarified  hem  of  the  atmosphere, 
And  play  with  its  crystal  balls;  or  in  anguish  peer 
O'er  the  pale  impalpable  rim  of  their  magnet  globe, 
As  they  cling  with  the  clutch  of  fate  like  a  thin  silk 

robe 
Round  the  maddening  curve  of  its  limb.     And  an  angel 

star, 

Shot  down  through  the  film  from  nebulous  realms  afar 
To  the  central  court  of  the  sun,  with  a  long  lost  fire, 
Would  swoon  in  the  white  hot  tides  of  the  mad  desire 

'05 


106  IN  THE  AURA. 

That  reeks  from  the  crust  of  earth,  and  his  wing  fade 

gray. 
From  my  cold  calm  bier  I  would  snatch  at  his  robe,  and 

pray: 

"  Dear  ray  of  the  cosmic  grace  like  a  pale  Christ  dying ! 
O  mated  dove  of  my  soul  in  thy  terror  flying ! 
Come  rest  in  the  down  of  my  nest  till  the  world  burns 

up, 

And  drink  the  draft  of  sin  in  her  whirling  cup 
Till  the  soulless  dance  dies  out  for  the  lack  of  breath ;  — 
For  thought,  and  love,  and  pity  shall  outlive  Death!  " 


SONG   OF  THE   WIND. 

CHEERILY, 
Merrily 
Dancing  along 
The  crest  of  my  song 
Breaks  over  the  lines, 
And  foams  as  it  reaches 
The  marvellous  beaches 
Of  dark  tossing  pines. 
Here  I  go  rushing 
Down  into  valleys 
Half  shadowed  over ; 
Brooklets  are  hushing 
Themselves  in  the  clover 
That  laughs  at  my  sallies. 
Here 

Like  a  deer 
Let  me  race 
On  the  prairies, 
With  dews  for  the  flowers, 
And  diamonds  in  showers 
To  gem  the  blue  face 
Of  the  delicate  fairies. 
Down  in  the  grass 
107 


108  SONG   OF  THE    WIND. 

Lightly  I  pass 

Slipping, 

Or  dipping 

As  a  wild  bird 

In  the  trough  of  a  sea, 

Or  as  a  herd 

When  bushes  are  stirred 

Merrily  skipping 

Over  the  lea. 

Kiss  me,  you  wild  rose, 

While  I  embrace. 

Thou  art  a  child,  rose  ! 

Why  should  the  rush 

Of  a  pink  in  a  blush 

Come  over  thy  face  ? 

Darling,  but  this  is 

The  joy  of  thy  kisses  :  — 

That  I  may  bear 

Thy  sweetness  of  breath 

In  a  blast  of  fresh  air 

To  a  chamber  of  death.  — 

Ho  !  little  swallow, 

Let  us  both  follow 

Into  the  West 

The  car  of  Apollo 

That  rolls  to  its  rest  !  — 

Good-night,  birch-tree, 

Hie  thee  to  sleep 

Wrapped  in  thy  leaves. 


SONG    OF  THE    WIND.  109 

Why  dost  thou  search,  tree  ? 

Why  dost  thou  weep 

Where  the  nightingale  lingers  ? 

Why  wring  thy  white  fingers 

As  a  maiden  who  grieves  ?  — 

Here  is  a  city. 

The  lamps  are  all  lighted. 

Poor  folks  are  sighted 

Only  by  me ; 

Shivering, 

Quivering 

Down  by  the  corners, 

Querulous  mourners. 

O  what  a  pity 

Such  sadness  to  see  !  — 

Out  on  the  road  again. 

Down  in  the  grassy  lane, 

There  is  a  country  lass 

Milking  her  cows. 

Plump  are  her  arms. 

Shall  I  arouse 

Her  love  or  alarms 

By  greeting  her  brows 

With  a  kiss  as  I  pass  ? 

Ha  !     There's  the  moon 

Reigning  so  lonely  !  — 

Let  the  wench  go  ; 

She  's  in  her  teens.  — 

This  is  the  only 


110  SONG   OF  THE    WIND. 

Empress  of  night. 

Better  to  know 

The  kisses  of  queens. 

What  do  I  care 

For  the  wrath  of  the  fair? 

Must  I  bow  to  her  light  ? 

Shall  I  hush  in  a  swoon 

For  this  lady  of  air  ? 

Nay  :  —  cloudlets  grasp  her. 

Stars  try,  but  miss  her. 

Let  me  go  kiss  her. 

I  too  will  clasp  her.  — 

Rogue  of  a  star, 

You  queer  little  eye 

Of  an  angel  whose  gaze 

Is  fixed  in  amaze 

Over  the  sky ; 

Out  with  thy  gleaming  ! 

Wink  now,  and  bellow, 

And  turn  thyself  yellow 

To  hear  the  blaspheming 

Of  such  a  bold  fellow  !  — 

Good-night,  heaven ! 

Farewell,  flowers  ! 

The  clerk  of  the  hours 

Is  ringing  eleven. 

Earth,  good- night  ! 

May  dreams  of  pearl 

Weave  starry  numbers 


SONG   OF  THE  WIND.  Ill 

Into  thy  slumbers, 
Sweet  young  girl 
In  thy  robe  of  white  ! 
All  things  sleep. 
Now  to  my  rest, 
Rocked  on  the  breast 
Where  the  wild  songs  creep 
Of  old  nurse  Ocean. 
Soft  be  thy  motion, 
Wrinkled  dame  Deep  ! 


THE   CAPTIVE. 

HAVE  you  seen  a  captive  warbler  in  his  gilded  cage  in 

May 

With  his  tiny  bursting  heart  against  the  grating  ? 
Have  you  set  him  where   the  shadows  of  the  garden 

branches  play, 

In  whose  silken  bowers  the  busy  birds  are  mating  ? 
On  what  joyous  cradles  of  the  giddy  tossing  crests 
Doth  he  mark  them  weave  their  nests  ! 
How  they  chuckle  and  they  snuggle  with  their  little  glossy 
breasts, 

Violet  scents 
Wafting  shy  delicious  blessings  to  their  leafy  bridal  tents  ! 

Ah,  but  he 

Beats  against  the  cruel  mesh  his  shattered  wing  in  agony ; 
A  wild  melodic  ecstasy  of  anguish  utters ; 
And  like  a  flaming  spirit  flutters 

To  be  free. 

And  one  tiny  yellow  maiden  on  a  spray  of  lilac  poises. 
From  her  little  throbbing  throat  what  luscious  noises 
Warble  love,  and  promise  of  a  summer's  bliss  for  him, 
Chirp  a  dainty  kiss  for  him, 
As  she  turns  her  pretty  head  askance  with  supple  coquetry. 

112 


THE    CAPTIVE.  113 

And  will  she  never  know  the  maddening  fate  that  locks 

his  cage  ? 

Doth  she  not  tremble  at  the  elemental  grandeur  of  his 
rage? 

Dear,  sweet,  unconscious  brutes  ! 
Unhappy  singers  !  — 

But  weep  thou  tears  of  blood,  my  heart,  for  distant  phan- 
tom fingers 

Fore'er  in  vain  outstretched  to  pluck  thee  from  thy 
roots ! 


KARMA. 

You  never  will  give  me  the  credit 

For  half  of  the  passion  I  feel. 
My  manner  was  cool  when  I  said  it. 

You  mistook  my  refusal  to  kneel. 
Well,  the  master  of  courtlier  phrases 

You  may  have  for  a  beck  of  your  hand. 
But  I  never  shall  sell  you  my  praises, 

And  I  mean  when  I  woo  you  —  to  stand. 

What  on  earth  is  the  use  of  a  lover 

With  rose-scented  kerchief  and  breath  ? 
Is  he  bagged  like  a  bevy  of  plover  ? 

Will  he  swear  to  adore  you  till  death? 
Ah,  till  death  !  —  He  's  a  coward,  my  mistress  ! 

It  is  death  he  should  first  have  defied  ! 
Here  I  claim  you  through  eons  of  histories 

Incarnate  forever  my  bride  ! 

Can  you  dimly  remember,  I  wonder, 
On  the  tremulous  breast  of  the  Nile, 

How  once  you  committed  a  blunder  ? 
How  your  captain  was  won  by  a  smile  ? 
114 


KARMA.  115 

How  you  lay  in  a  bower  of  spices, 

And  maddened  his  eyes  with  your  charms, 

Till,  praying  forgiveness  of  Isis, 
He  sank  in  your  passionate  arms  ? 

Well,  I  clearly  recall  you  at  Florence,  — 

'T  was  a  cycle  of  centuries  after,  — 
How  you  faced  me  with  eye  of  abhorrence, 

How  you  stormed  at  the  scorn  of  my  laughter, 
When  you  reckoned  in  impotent  fashion 

I  would  welcome  you  back  to  my  cottage ; 
You,  who  bartered  a  genuine  passion 

For  a  mess  of  the  ducal  pottage  ! 

O,  I  'm  fickle  ?    No  doubt,  since  you  know  it ! 

Each  honey-sweet  blossom  to  enter 
Perhaps  is  becoming  a  poet, 

To  revolve  as  a  disc  on  its  centre. 
But  the  heart  of  a  sphere  has  no  motion. 

'T  is  an  ultimate  atom,  serene 
As  the  depths  of  a  turbulent  ocean.  — 

That  heart  I  reserve  for  my  queen. 

There,  how  would  you  like  me  to  woo  you  ? 

Shall  I  prate  of  the  wonders  of  science  ? 
Shall  I  come  with  a  summons  to  sue  you, 

Just  to  see  your  eyes  sparkle  defiance  ? 
Shall  I  buy  you  an  exquisite  jewel? 

Shall  I  swear  to  obey  your  behest  ? 
Shall  I  damn  you  as  icy  and  cruel, 

Then  weep  like  a  fool  on  your  breast  ? 


116  KARMA. 

No  doubt  you  deserve  all  my  damning  ! 

I  only  wish  you  would  damn  me, 
And  be  done  with  this  pitiful  shamming. 

I  would  like  you  as  fierce  and  as  free 
As  a  tigress,  as  supple  and  fearless, 

To  dare  you,  and  hold  you,  and  shake  you ; 
Or  a  Mexican  mustang  peerless.  — 

I  swear  I  would  mount  you,  and  break  you  ! 

Nay ;  I  '11  pluck  you  a  star  from  its  setting, 

And  fling  it  with  scorn  at  your  feet. 
I  '11  exasperate  Mars  with  my  fretting 

Till  he  lend  you  the  glow  of  his  heat. 
Then  I  '11  come  like  a  double-ringed  Saturn ; 

And  congeal  you  with  polar  embrace 
Till  you  spit  in  your  rage  at  the  pattern 

My  frost  shall  imprint  on  your  face. 

Ah,  enough  !     For  I  dare  you  to  sever 

That  intricate  fabric  of  meshes 
You  have  woven  for  once  and  forever. 

No  cycle  of  spirits  or  fleshes 
Can  stay  that  insidious  leaven. 

It  draws  us  like  Fate  to  its  level. 
I  will  lie  on  your  bosom  in  heaven ;  — 

Or,  you  '11  go  with  me  to  the  devil ! 


MAYA. 

WHERE  the  willow  meshes  tremble 

On  the  bosom  of  the  night; 
And  the  fire-flies  reassemble, 

And  in  happy  dance  delight 
With  their  golden  skein  a-tangle 
To  deceive  the  stars  that  spangle, 
Like  a  universe  a-quiver, 
All  the  surface  of  the  river;  — 
Have  I  seen  the  subtle  vision 

Of  a  strange  unearthly  thing 
Peering  forth  as  in  derision, 
And  an  eye  as  of  a  creature 

That  was  crouching  for  a  spring. 
Be  it  fiend  or  be  it  human, 
I  could  feel  each  hidden  feature 
Had  the  semblance  of  a  woman. 

For  I  hear  in  sudden  hushes 

Rustling  like  the  sound  of  dresses, 

And  I  see  among  the  rushes 

Lines  like  tangled  coils  of  tresses, 

And  I  press  upon  my  eyes 

Where  a  veil  of  cobweb  lies; 
117 


118  MAYA. 

And  my  vision  seems  to  dance 
In  the  mazes  of  a  trance, 
And  I  tremble  like  a  deer; 
Is  it  love,  or  is  it  fear? 
For  the  wind  comes  by  and  grieves 
Through  its  harp  of  summer  leaves. 
Where  it  lifts  the  willow  laces 
Not  a  sign  my  fancy  traces 
Of  the  something  that  I  dread 
In  the  hollow  of  their  bed;  — 
Then  I  pray  it  to  appear, 
When  it  answers  with  a  leer; 
And  the  leaves  a-laughing  shake 
Like  the  ripples  on  a  lake; 
And  it  may  be  curse  or  kiss, 
But  I  hear  its  mocking  hiss. 

Once  I  could  not  bear  the  passion 
Which  it  burned  into  my  soul 
Like  an  eye  of  living  coal. 
And  I  cried  to  it  with  ashen 
Lips  apart,  and  husky  breath, 
"  O  thou  messenger  of  death, 
Cease  this  wily  necromancy 
Which  has  spun  about  my  fancy 
Like  a  web  of  cruel  mesh 
Chains  that  eat  into  my  flesh ! 
O  thou  seraph,  or  thou  fiend, 
By  thy  boughs  of  willow  screened, 


MA  YA.  119 

I  conjure  thee  to  unveil. 
In  the  sheen  of  moonlight  pale 
I  must  see  thee,  I  must  know 
All  thy  hidden  bliss  or  woe !  " 

Then  a  perfume  as  of  musk 
Seemed  to  permeate  the  dusk. 
And  I  heard  the  willow  whispers 
Sighing  like  a  nun  at  vespers, 
Like  a  nun  who  knows  her  breath 
Is  as  sweet  as  love  and  death. 
And  their  leaflets  seemed  to  linger 
Like  a  soft  caressing  ringer, 
And  they  tempted  me  with  tips 
Of  their  passionate  young  lips. 

Then  their  branches  slowly  parted, — 

In  the  blackness  of  their  space 

Lay  a  dim  uncertain  face, 
And  its  eyes  were  diamond-hearted. — 
Then  I  heard  a  plash  and  scream 
From  the  bosom  of  the  stream, 
And  the  vision  paled  almost 
To  the  blankness  of  a  ghost. 
But  I  shrieked,  "Thou  shalt  not  go, 
Thing  of  evil,  child  of  woe ! 
See,  the  moon  has  half-way  ploughed 
Through  the  curtain  of  yon  cloud  — 
She  shall  see  thee,  she  shall  tell 
If  thy  message  be  from  hell !  " 


120  MA  YA. 

Then  a  perfume  sweeter,  thicker, 
Made  the  starlight  faint  and  flicker; 
And  the  dim  uncertain  feature 
Took  the  semblance  of  a  creature 
That  was  beautiful  and  human. 
For  its  breath  came  fast  and  warm, 
Like  a  rising  summer  storm. 
And  its  spirit  turned  to  mine 
For  the  madness  of  a  second 
Like  the  lighting  on  a  pine. 
And  its  pallid  finger  beckoned 
Where  the  willows  purred  and  pressed 
On  the  lilies  of  its  breast. 
God !     It  was  living  woman. 

Now  the  sap  of  spring  a-bud 
Leaped  like  fire  in  my  blood; 
And  in  broken  voice  I  cried, 
"  O  my  gentle  willow  bride, 
I  have  felt  thee,  I  have  known 
That  my  soul  was  thine  alone. 
I  have  bartered  hope  of  grace 
For  this  vision  of  thy  face. 
Now  the  night-mist  hardly  dims 
All  the  splendor  of  thy  limbs, 
All  this  witchery  that  swerves 
With  the  passion  of  its  curves !  " 


MAYA.  121 

Then  I  saw  no  more,  or  cared; 

For  I  threw  myself  possessed 

On  the  marble  of  that  breast :  — 

When  I  felt  against  my  ear 

Like  a  snake  her  icy  cheek, 

And  the  sting  as  of  a  jeer, 

Half  in  sob  and  half  in  hissing; 

And  the  moon  came  forth  and  stared 

Like  a  white  nun  pitiful 

At  the  beauty  I  had  bared, 

At  the  bosom  I  was  kissing. — 

X)  't  was  horrible,  my  shriek! 
I  caressed  an  empty  skull ! 
And  the  ripeness  of  those  charms 
Fell  to  ashes  in  my  arms !  — 

Weeping  willows,  soft  your  plaint 
Sweeps  the  moss  whereon  I  faint. 
River  rushes,  creep  and  crouch 
O'er  the  madness  of  my  couch. 
Kiss  and  curse  me  once  again. 
I  forsake  the  way  of  men ! 
Rock  me  sadly  in  the  spell 
Of  your  witchery  of  hell. 
For,  although  I  know  the  worst, 
Still  I  love  that  thing  accursed ! 


MAYTIME. 

WHAT  are  the  small  birds  saying? 

That  I  should  go  a-Maying? 

"Ah  May,  May,  May, 

Sweet  May,  sweet  May ! 

Do  you  love  May?  " 

Thus  they  forever  chirp  in  carol  gay. 

Prithee  why  should  not  I, 

Marking  their  rapturous  flight  across  the  sky, 

Echo  to  thee  their  spring-tide  harmony? 

Do  I  love  May?     Sweet  birds, 

A  blessing  for  your  sympathetic  words ! 

Yea :  more,  far  more  than  you  or  I  can  say. 

Tell  me,  why  is  it  that  the  name  of  June 

Hath  no  such  sweet  associated  tune? 

Is  it  the  hopeful  play 

Of  possibilities  in  that  coy  "May"? 

Perchance  June's  summer  dust 

Would  soil  the  freshness  of  that  "May  "  with  "Must." 

That 's  the  mistake 

We  mortals  ever  make. 

The  shy  wild-rose  new-blown 

We  covet  for  our  own; 

And  yet  she  droops  when  tied 

122 


MA  YTIME.  123 


To  some  dull  stake,  a  limp  defenceless  bride. 

No  hot-house  flower 

Should  share  my  true  love's  dower! 

Give  me  the  anxious  thrill 

That  hangs  upon  an  undetermined  will ! 

Let  May  be  ever  "May," 

And  in  her  girlish  freedom  laugh  and  play, 

Nor  doff  the  dainty  mien 

Of  innocent  sixteen. — : 

Then  shall  my  pained  heart  flutter 

Like  a  sweet  bird  with  love  it  may  not  utter; 

Nor  know  what  blossoms  hath 

The  gracious  goddess  showered  in  my  path. 

Ah,  May  dear,  draw  the  curtain 

Over  thy  smile  uncertain. 

For,  be  it  tears  that  come, 

My  sorrow  shall  be  dumb. — 

Yet  may  I  find 

Perchance  in  some  shy  nook, 

Betrayed  of  soft  sweet-scented  wind, 

A  violet  by  a  brook; 

Or  one  rare  trembling  white  anemone 

No  other  favored  soul  shall  ever  see. 

No  one  but  me 

To  catch  in  fairy  dells 

The  tinkling  of  thy  highland-lily  bells, 

Or  watch  the  pure  surprise 

That  shimmers  in  the  blue-tipped  grasses'  eyes. 

Shall  I  not  press  my  cheek 


124  MA  YTIME. 

Upon  the  daisies  of  thy  fancy  meek, 

And  let  my  soul  be  kissed 

By  furry,  lithesome  things, 

The  elemental  spirits  of  the  mist, 

That  float  upon  the  dandelion's  wings? 

0  May,  if  I  should  woo, 
Not  as  a  bee 

With  noisy  minstrelsy, 

If  I  should  come  to  you 

As  comes  a  timid  white-winged  butterfly 

Smiling  to  live,  or  smiling  still  to  die, 

What  would  you  do  ?  — 

Nay  sweet,  haste  not  to  tell. 

1  would  not  have  you  solve  the  mystic  spell, 
The  pleasing  riddle  which  the  birds  are  singing, 
In  sweet  reiteration  ringing, 

"O  May,  May,  May, 

Dost  love  me,  May?" 

Ah  lack-a-day ! 

What  is  it  I  am  saying? 

I  must  be  off  if  I  would  go  a-Maying. 


WITH   DEATH. 

WHEN  the  lamplight  dims  in  a  mist  of  hymns, 
And  your  sad,  sweet  glance  in  a  glad  trance  swims, 
When  the  tramp  of  the  charging  steeds  is  nigh, 
And  my  pulse  beats  faint  like  a  lullaby, 

And  I  know  I  must  die :  — 
In  that  last  sweet  sigh,  on  that  vast  high  brink, 
Where  the  stainless  fly  and  the  sinful  shrink, 
What  shall  my  innermost  eye  descry? 

What  shall  I  think? 

Shall  the  sad  thoughts  rush  in  a  mad  warm  gush? 
Shall  they  stand  aghast  in  the  chamber's  hush? 
And  the  ghosts  of  the  past  creep  out  and  in, 
Bone  of  my  bone,  and  kin  of  my  kin? 
Shall  I  see  you  start  with  your  first  warm  blush? 
Shall  I  feel  you  smart  like  a  wounded  thrush? 
Can  I  draw  the  dart?     Can  I  heal  you?     Hush ! 
What  is  done  is  done;  and  the  shadow  of  sin 
Lies  low  with  the  sun;  and  they  all  troop  in 

Pitiful  visitors  one  by  one. 
Let  them  crowd  to  my  bedside  —  let  them  come. 

They  are  mine;  I  shall  face  them,  dumb. 
125 


126  WITH  DEATH. 

When  the  flickering  glimmer  of  the  lamp  grows  dim- 
mer, 

And  the  pale  white  lines  of  the  curtain  shimmer 
Like  a  falling  shroud,  or  a  robe  of  cloud; 
When  I  hear  the  snort  of  the  chargers  loud; 
When  a  strong  voice  cries  like  a  trumpet  clear 
"O  soul,  unveil;  for  at  length  I  am  here! " 
With  that  last  weak  breath  which  the  hand  of  Death 
Shall  snatch  from  my  lip  as  he  listeneth, 
What  shall  I  cry,  what  shall  reply 
When  I  know  that  I  die? 

Ah,  this, — "  Sweet  bliss,  I  have  lived,  I  have  died  for 

this. 
I  have  dared  thee,  Death;   I  have  sued  for  thy  frosty 

kiss. 
I  have  wooed  thee  in  masterful  mood;  I  have  sworn  to 

caress 

My  infinite  bride  in  my  spirit's  first  nakedness. 
Out  of  the  mists  of  my  brain,  and  the  storm  of  my 

pain, 

Web  of  the  flesh,  and  the  mesh  of  the  blood-swept  vein ! 
Free  like  a  feather  to  fly  through  the  worlds   as   they 

crash ! 

I  to  be  I  evermore  though  they  crumble  to  ash ! 
Never  a  wrath  to  fear :  but  a  path  to  be  won 
Straight  to  the  blinding  light  of  a  nightless  sun ! 
Whether  He  cast  me  to  hell,  or  fell  me  to  earth; 
Whether  of  sin  I  be  shriven,  or  driven  again  to  rebirth; 


WITH  DEATH.  127 

111  is  the  slave  of  the  will !  I  shall  master  it  still. 
Love  shall  not  kill,  though  I  drink  to  the  fill  of  its  ill. 
Nothing  shall  daunt  me :  —  not  taunt  of  the  damned  as 

they  chant. 
Only  weak  purpose  to  fear,  and  the  cold  pale  fears  as 

they  haunt. 

This  is  the  self-made  sting;  this  is  the  cursed  thing:  — 
To  mutter  the  palsied  doubt,  to  flutter  with  listless  wing, 
To  creep  like  an  icy  snake  in  the  grass  of  a  sordid 

thought; 

Never  a  passion  to  sin  for,  never  a  bliss  to  be  fought, 
Never  a  hell  to  be  welcomed!  —  Then  come  to  me, 

Death,  though  I  burn. 
Flames  shall  be  quenched  in  our  love,  and  God,  He 

shall  feel  how  we  yearn, 

And  Mother  Mary  shall  sit  like  a  queen  mild-eyed, 
And  wash  the  foam  from  my  lips,  my  merciful  bride ;  — 
For  gladly  She  loved  Her  Beloved,  and  sadly  She  loved 

till  He  died." 


SPRING   BREATH. 

LIKE  secret  emerald  sheens  that  hide  in  the  froth  of  a 

wave, 
So  reincarnate  greens  from  the  drifts  of  their  wintry 

grave 
Have  felt  the  breath  of  a  spring  as  sweet  as  the  pulsing 

blood 
When  a  maiden  plumes  her  wing,  and  love  swells  red  in 

the  bud. 
The  snows  shall  melt  like  a  cloud,  and  their  ghosts  come 

back  in  the  rain; 
And  the  mountains  thunder-browed  shall  frown  on  the 

timid  plain. 
But  the  feet  of  the  shy  blue  maids  that  hide  in  the 

withered  leaves 
Shall  bathe  in  the  brooks  of  the  glades,  and  dance  in  the 

mossy  eaves 
Of  friendly  giant  rocks  with  their  wonderful  blurred 

gray  eyes; 
And  the  curls  of  the  soft  fern  locks  unfold  to  the  kiss  of 

the  skies. 
And  down  where  a  smoke-like  smell  lies  low  in  the 

atmosphere 

Is  heard  the  song  of  a  bell  with  the  tinkle  of  silver  clear 

128 


SPRING  BREATH.  129 

From  the  cool  wet  sponge  of  a  shade;  and  the  mouth  of 

a  shy  pink  cup, 
Like  a  naked  child  afraid,  for  a  draught  of  the  dew  looks 

up. 

O  rare  anemone,  like  a  pale  pearl  shell  from  a  stream, 
With  the  grace  of  a  maiden  free,  and  a  firm  green  wing 

like  a  dream 
Of  the  clustered  emerald  sprays   round  the  new-born 

gem  of  a  soul;  — 
See  now  through  the  crystal  grays  where  the  heart  of  an 

oriole 
Hath  drowned  its  orange  throbs  in  the  mirror  soul  of 

the  brook; 

And  with  sympathetic  sobs  the  frightened  violets  look 
Aghast  at  the  sight  of  blood.     But  fear  is  as  fragrant 

as  death, 
And  fairies  faint  at  the  flood  of  this  delicate  maiden 

breath. 
And  the  squirrel  rubs  his  eyes,   and  scans  the  world 

from  his  chinks; 
And  the  mottled  wild  duck  flies  from  the  sly  gray  lair 

of  the  lynx. 


IN   NORWAY. 

SOUL  of  my  fathers, 
Soul  of  black  mountains, 
Soul  of  gnarled  forests, 
Soul  of  hoarse  trumpets, 
Soul  of  world-thunder  ;  — 
Soul,  be  the  fissure 
Rent  for  my  gaze  ! 

Thence  shall  I  ponder 
Midnights  of  revel, 
Wolves  of  gray  hunger, 
Flames  of  salvation's 
Martyrdom,  triumph, 
Churns  of  mad  struggle, 
Curses  of  love. 

These  are  my  birthright ;  - 
Here  in  the  northland 
Crags  of  the  ice-gods ; 
Nest  of  gaunt  heroes  ; 
Cradle  of  sea-hounds, 
Serpents  of  vikings, 
Doves  of  the  skalds. 
130 


IN  NORWAY.  131 

Still  doth  the  North  Sea 
Hurl  on  the  granite 
Helms  of  thy  headlands 
Barbs  of  white  thunder. 
Still  through  the  blue  wave 
Dip  the  gray  petrels, 
Sea-gulls  of  ships. 

Into  thy  caverns 
Hollowed  in  mountains 
Breathless  I  wander ;  — 
Frosty  with  jewelled 
Drops  of  the  moonlight, 
Ghostly  with  echoes, 
Turquoise  their  floor. 

Sprays  of  Aurora 
Blaze  to  the  ceiling. 
Brackets  of  jasper 
Hold  the  steel  arches, 
Rafters  of  crimson, 
Tiles  of  green  lightning, 
Studs  of  gold  stars. 

Harpstrings  of  sagas 
Weird  in  your  passion, 
Pulsing  with  luminous 
Snarls  of  the  demons, 


132  IN  NORWAY. 

Faint  with  caressing 
Breath  of  white  maidens, 
Pure  in  your  prayers  !  — 


You  have  your  power  still. 
Still  do  I  hear  you 
Shriek  your  shrill  voices 
In  the  death-grapple, 
In  the  ice  cracking, 
In  the  sea  moaning, 
In  the  ghosts'  cries. 


Nurse  of  the  rime-frost ; 
Gray  sky  and  misty 
Skirt  of  wild  she-gods, 
They  that  beheld  me 
Borne  to  my  cradle 
Like  a  young  eagle 
From  their  hoar  nests  ! 


Thou  hast  an  infinite 
Thirst  in  thy  bosom  ; 
Blood  for  the  daring, 
Glimpse  of  vast  values 
Toppling  for  heroes, 
Whirls  of  mad  kisses, 
Wombs  of  dark  life. 


IN  NORWAY.  133 

O  when  the  thunder 
Crumbles  old  mountains' 
Craggy  gray  castles ; 
O  when  the  lightning 
Stabs  her  red  war-blades 
Through  thy  ripe  bosom 
Shrinking  like  curds ;  — 

Then  do  I  know  him 
Tyrant  of  Titans, 
Thor  the  god- conqueror, 
Twisting  the  iron 
Dome  of  the  elements, 
Hurling  hot  satellites 
Chained  to  his  glove. 

Yea,  and  he  sweepeth 
Far  to  the  southward, 
Whirling  cloud-castles 
Down  the  horizon, 
Lit  like  a  rumbling 
Crater  of  ruin 

Lost  in  the  sea :  — 

While  to  the  zenith 
Frosty  and  quiet 
Tips  of  sharp  diamonds 
Shatter  pale  lances, 


134  IN  NORWAY. 

Shoals  of  thin  nebulae 
Froth  with  the  beakers 
Of  their  star- wine. 

Halls  of  the  North-dawn 
Crusted  with  garnets, 
Sardon,  and  beryl !  — 
Into  blood-ruby 
Foam  thy  green  goblets, 
Trail  through  wan  purple 
Pearls  of  milk- blue.  — 


Hence  with  these  visions  :  - 
Meteor  glances 
Split  by  the  icy 
Spar  of  the  present ! 
Fling  them  like  dew-drops 
Into  the  ocean, 
Whither  ye  flee  ! 


THE  DISCOVERY   OF  AMERICA. 

A  SYMPHONIC   POEM. 


THE    DISCOVERY  OF   AMERICA. 

A   SYMPHONIC  POEM. 

FIRST   MOVEMENT. 
&je  Sea  atrti 


BLAST  of  disruption  triumphant  !     Wail  of  the  travail  of 

Time! 
Shudder  of  terrified  worlds  in  the  glare  of  the  sun  of 

the  new  ! 
Thrills  of  the  joy  of   creation!     Potence  of  prophets 

sublime  ! 

Faces  in  dust  to  be  lifted,  and  crowned  with  the  stars 
of  the  true  ! 


Crowns  of  the  stars  like  wreaths 
On  the  lap  of  the  midnight  sky. 

And  the  sympathetic  ocean  breathes 
With  the  swell  of  a  smothered  sigh. 

Stars  like  the  fallen  leaves 
That  in  autumn  die, 


138  THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA. 

On  the  lap  of  the  sea  as  it  heaves 

With  a  death-foreboding  cry. 
But  angels  glorious,  deathless, 
Gaze  from  the  windows  of  heaven  breathless 

On  bird-like  ships  that  are  floating  by. 

"  O  mocking,  sighing,  treacherous  sea, 
Whisper  thy  fathomless  secret  to  me." 

Then  the  coo 
Of  a  soft  wind  blew, 
And  a   shiver  ran   up   to   the   flag    at    the    masthead 

high; 
And  the  blast  of  disruption  blew,  and  the  night  wailed 

loud  in  her  pain, 

And  the  stars  hid  under  a  cloud  that  was  heavy  and  blue 
with  rain. 

And  the  small  waves  writhed  as  they  came, 

Writhed  like  the  wreaths  of  a  flame, 

Like  the  luminous,  drifting  breath 

Of  a  wraith  in  the  chamber  of  death ; 

And  their  pleadings  fell 

With  the  moans  of  a  petalled  shell, 

As  they  curled  with  purrings  and  hisses 

Their  warm  lips  bubbling  with  kisses, 

Rolling  in  tremulous  eagerness 

Of  an  amorous  siren's  soft  caress 

For  this  second  Ulysses. 


THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA.  139 

But  he  cried  in  his  agony, 
"  Away  with  thy  cursed  lips,  O  sea ! 
And  thy  snaky  fingers  of  weeds 
That  reach  from  the  sleeve  of  thy  frothing  beads ! 
Echo  no  more  the  voice 
Of  our  weakening  spirit's  choice! 
Heaven  knows  that  we  yearn 
For  the  secret  impossible  bliss  of  return. 
But  the  flame  of  an  inward  fire 
Burns  fiercer  than  tenderest  heart's  desire, 
A  fire  that  feeds 

On  the  very  anguish  of  wonderful  deeds. 
Begone,  I  say !     Make  way,  make  way, 
In  the  name  of  the  Lord ! 
With  His  cross  on  my  sword, 
I  carve  from  this  doubt  and  temptation 
A  path  through  thy  sheer  desolation !  " 


Then  the  balm 

Of  a  perfect  calm 

Fell  over  the  passionate  seas; 

A  fragrant  calm 

Like  the  hush  of  a  psalm, 

That  hangs  on  the  boughs  of  the  cocoanut  trees, 

That  hides  in  the  heart  of  a  great  cool  palm, 

Where  the  coral  harps  like  bended  moons 

Echo  forever  the  splendid  tunes 

That  float  on  the  dreams  of  the  broad  lagoons. 


140  THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA. 

Then  the  flying  fish 
Arose,  and  sped  with  a  sudden  dash 
Like  the  shivering  line  of  a  lightning  flash, 
And  sank  again  with  a  joyous  plash; 
Like  golden  shuttles  in  silver  mesh, 
Like  love  that  leaps  to  the  burning  flesh; 
Again  and  again,  like  the  throb  of  a  fresh  young 
wish. 

O  wish  that  no  god  may  know ! 

O  throb  of  despair  and  delay ! 

O  sob  of  another  dying  day ! 

O  faith  that  flies  like  shaft  from  a  bow, 

Then  sinks  again  in  the  floods  of  woe ! 

Then  cried  he  in  deeper  pain :  — 

"  O  last  faint  flutter  of  hope,  thou  shalt  not  fail ! 

Breathe,  breathe  again 

Into  the  pallid  cheek  of  my  despondent  sail 

The  shell-hued  glinting  of  thy  gleeful  gale ! 

Respond,  respond, 

O  holy  universal  Mother  of  the  seas  beyond ! 

O  brooding  Dove,  breathe  inspiration  fair; 

Be  it  through  lightnings  of  the  summer  air 

That  kisses  warm 

With  furious  fevered  breath, 

Or  be  it  in  the  utmost  throes  of  tropic  storm; 

Even  in  Death, 

Reveal,  reveal  thy  form !  " 


THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA.  141 

Hark! 

A  sudden  shriek  in  the  dark ! 
A  whistle  that  shoots  to  the  peak ! 
A  darkness  that  sweeps  to  the  deck ! 
A  crash  like  a  wreck ! 
O  blast  of  disruption  triumphant !     O  wail  of  the  travail 

of  Time ! 

And  the  backs  of  the  green  waves  break; 
And  the  stout  beams  crackle  and  creak; 
And  the  keels  roll  weak, 
And  reel  in  the  cavernous  wake 
Of  a  violet  lightning  streak. 

Shudder  of  terrified  worlds  in  the  glare  of  the  lightning 
sublime ! 

Shuddering  rumble  of  thunder  drums  1 

Wailing  flutes  of  the  hurricane ! 

Trailing  beards  of  the  matted  rain ! 
Suns  that  crumble  in  blinding  crumbs ! 

Hist! 

Whistling  from  water-snakes'  nests, 

Pestiferous, 

Vociferous ! 

Sulphurous  gulfs ! 

Rushing  of  selfless  elfs ! 

Restless  cresting  of  helpless  breasts ! 

Shifting  rifts  of  the  hapless  mist ! 


142  THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA. 

And  ever  the  shrouded  form 

Of  the  great  gaunt  god  of  the  storm, 

With  eyes  as  of  skulls 

That  shine  in  the  lulls, 

And  fingers  with  skin  like  a  wing, 

That  cling  to  the  hair 

With  the  clutch  of  despair, 

As  foul  sea-claws  to  a  drowned  corpse  cling ! 

O  blast  of  disruption,  and  utter  diremption ! 

O  shudder  of  doubt  that  is  passing  the  bonds  of  dimen- 
sion! 
O  mental  and  physical  tension  • 

Of  terrified  worlds  that  are  hurled  as  if  lost  to  redemp- 
tion! 

Disruption !     Distortion ! 
Destruction !     Abortion ! 

Worry,  and  murmur,  and  motion  of  scurrying  currents ! 

Tearing,  and  perilous  tossing  of  turbulent  torrents ! 

Murderous  horror,  and  crossing  of  error  with  terror ! 

Scoff  of  the  physical  surf  like  a  breath  on  the  psychical 
mirror ! 

Mist-driven  broods   of   the   ocean  like  moods  of  our 
mystical  nature ! 

Railing  and  blare  in  the  tempest,  and  wail  and  despair- 
ing of  travail ! 

Thrills  of  creation  in  glare  of  the  wills  of  the  powers  of 
evil! 

Swords  that  shall  leap  with  the  hour  to  the  hearts  of 
creator  and  creature ! 


THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA.  143 

"  Ah  peace,  peace ! 
Santa  Maria,  peace ! 
Let  the  wild  torture  of  this  fury  cease ! 
Yea,  on  this  watery  desert  have  I  fasted,  and  sung  thy 

praise 
A  thousand  times  over  a  Lenten  season  of  forty  nights 

and  days. 
Unmoved  on  the  lofty  tower  of  thy  purposes  dim  I 

stood. 
Lust,  and  Ambition,  and  Doubt,  and  Fear  swept  by  in  a 

hurricane  brood. 
But  I  was  not,  I  am  not  strong. 
How  long,  O  Mother  of  our  Lord,  how  long 
Shall  I  be  hammered  as  molten  steel  in  the  forge  of  this 
scourger's  mood?" 

O  first  unwelcomed  foreigner! 
O  last  unconscious  mariner ! 

See,  through  the  swift  unravelling  fringe  of  the  shattered 
clouds 

Light  breaks. 
Fragments  of  mist  are  swirling  like  lost  bewildered 

flakes. 

The  stars  are  swimming  in  scattered  crowds. 
Tossed  on  the  breast  of  heaven  what  waif  is  this  from 

the  wreck  ? 
What  messenger  of  hope  alights  upon  thy  shrouds? 

A  small  brown  speck 
Helpless  it  falls,  it  flutters  to  the  deck. 


144  THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA. 

O  thrill  of  a  prophecy  dying!     O  flutter  of  winged 

wish! 
"  Nay;  —  't  is  only  a  flying  fish 

Hapless  thrown  up 

From  the  lip  of  the  ocean's  frothing  cup." 
"O  comrade   mine,   what   is 't?      What   is't?  — It 

stirred ! 

It  cannot  be  —  Jesu  beloved,  dare  I  lisp  the  word?  — 
It  cannot  be,  I  say, — 
Great  God,  make  way ! 
A  small  land  bird !  " 

There  it  lies  with  heart  a-tremble, 

Plumage  torn  by  fire  and  hail; 
While  earth's  boldest  sons  assemble 

Weeping  o'er  its  body  frail:  — 
Even  as  angel  choirs  are  weeping 

Round  some  stricken  tortured  soul 
Freed  from  storms  of  sin,  and  sleeping 

At  its  last  unconscious  goal. 

So  flies  the  blessed  dove  with  olive  bough 
To  thee,  lone  wanderer  on  a  world-wide  ark. 

So  shall  the  smile  of  God  direct  thy  prow 
To  some  new  Ararat  across  the  dark. 
Thence  shall  thine  eyes  behold  again  the  sight 
That  flashed  on  Moses  from  Mount  Pisgah's  height. 

Look  up,  for  soon  shall  break  upon  thy  brow 

What  Israel's  chieftain  led,  a  pillar  of  fire  by  night. 


THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA.  145 

How  calm  and  how  sweet  the  night ! 
How  fresh  and  how  pure  the  sea ! 
And  the  cool  salt  air  like  a  thing  of  delight 
Sweeps  over  the  soul  as  a  wing  in  flight, 
And  the  sky  is  barred  by  the  caging  bright 

Where  hope  is  beating  her  plume  to  be  free. 
Thrills  of  the  joy  of  creation  in  potence  of  prophecy 

new! 
And  the  stars  new  washed  like  a  crown  of  leaves 

Are  held  in  the  arms  of  the  virgin  sky, 
Are  raised  by  the  royal  love  that  heaves 
The  loyal  heart  of  the  tiptoe  wave 
At  the  new-found  kiss  of  a  master  brave, 

Of  her  true-found  prince  who  is  sailing  by. 
Heroes  on  high  to  be  lifted,  and  crowned  with  the  stars 
of  the  true !  — 

Yes,  the  true, — 
And  the  new, — 

Lapped  by  two  great  infinities  of  blue; 
Wrapped  in  the  vapors  of  the  cosmic  dew. 


O  thrill  of  the  joy  of  creation ! 

O  will  of  the  mood  of  devotion ! 

O  prophecy  potent  of  ocean ! 

O  stars  of  the  crown  of  salvation ! 
Penitent  lifting  of  faces  to  infinite  graces ! 
Permanent  drifting  of  planets  to  ultimate  places ! 


146  THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA. 

Potency  patent  of  dust  on  the  brow  of  the  just! 
Latent  devotion  of  trust  to  the  new  she  embraces ! 

But  hark ! 
What  was  spoken  ? 
Was  it  the  throb  of  yon  spark 
That  cuts  like  a  Damascene  blade  to  the  dome  of  the 

dark? 

Has  the  heart  of  a  white  star  broken? 
Was  it  the  whisper  of  distance  ?    Was  it  the  blinding 

roar 

Of  wedges  of  light  that  are  splitting  the  sky  to  the 
ocean's  floor; 

Even  as  solid  edges  of  proud  Vesuvius  split 

In  the  rage  of  a  lava-fit, 

When  the  glorious  crimson  blood  spurts  through  with 
a  hiss 
The  red  ripe  wound  of  each  orifice  ? 

O  pillars  of  light  that  are  lifting  the  glare  of  the  glorified 
ceiling, 

O  fierce  arabesques  of  the  stars  as  they  leap  in  antiphonal 
passion, 

O  shaft  of  the  uttermost  steeple  that  reels  with  the  mad- 
ness of  feeling, 

Here  shower  thy  blazing  cathedral  on  the  corpse  of  this 
universe  ashen ! 

Rise  in  thy  architectonic  splendor  of  radiant  fires 
From  the  womb  of  creative  desires ! 


THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA.  147 

On  the  combing  wave  of  thy  crystal  dome  now  set 

The  diamond  jet 
Of  each  sparkling  minaret, 

Pouring  like  infinite  golden  foam  from  the  torches  of 
molten  spires ! 

Let  each  tongue  of  flame 

Have  an  individual  name, 

A  voice  effervescent, 

Evanescent, 
Swept  from  the  floor  to  the  roof  in  a  paean  incessant; 

As  of  luminous  souls 
In  the  joy  of  their  self-won  force, 
Each  on  the  tremulous  wedge  of  a  rocket's  course 
From  the  vortices  shot  of  the  duplicate  cosmic  poles ! 

What  gossamer  network  of  comets'  tails 
Shrouds  heaven  in  rainbow  veils ! 

Pulsing  in  changeable  gold  on  the  breast  of  this  astral 
chameleon, 

Filaments  scattered  like  crowns  of  enamel  on  walls  of 
Alhambra, 

Orbital  laces  of  loops  on  the  centres  of  darker  penum- 
bra, 

Flashing  of  manes  from  the  chargers  in  star-clustered 
perihelion ! 

Yet  these  soft  skeins  of  astral  floss 
Waving  like  beards  of  incandescent  moss 
Of  a  sudden  condense 


148  THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA. 

By  some  centripetal  master  influence. 

Earth's  breath  is  held, 
As  when  in  the  gloomy  slime  of  chaotic  eld 
The  atoms  huddled  in  blank  amaze 
At  the  soul-searching  gaze 
Of  the  first  created  sun. 
So  now,  on  this  altar  of  night 
Blazes  anew  that  sacramental  light 
For  a  day's  work  done. 
Four-armed  it  lies, 

A  blinding  prophecy  in  the  central  skies; 
A  cross ! 


How  calm  the  night !     How  free 
After  this  meteoric  ecstasy ! 

The  world  is  still 
With  fixity  of  faith,  and  deep  untroubled  will :  — 

Faith  in  the  infinite  blue  spirit  of  the  sky, 
^  Will  in  the  infinite  true  bosom  of  the  sea. 
Purposes  unclouded,  and  the  goal  like  a  star  set  firm ; 
Time  but  a  gentle  bride  in  Creation's  fond  embrace. 
Kiss  of  a  hero  who  lifts  the  veil  from  a  virgin's  face ! 
Goddess-birth  from  the  foam  of  the  sea  at  the  God- 
appointed  term ! 

Ah,  hero,  weep  — 
In  the  happy  dreams  of  thy  sleep, 
Pillowed  on  folds  of  rosy-hued  idea 


THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA.  149 

On  the  deck  of  the  Santa  Maria. 

Sail  on,  and  dream 
In  the  molten  glow  of  this  steady  tidal  stream 

That  bears  thee  sure 
To  worlds  more  wonderful  and  pure 

Than  thou  canst  deem. 

And  now  on  the  tossing  edges  of  the  East 
A  higher  wave  of  molten  silver  flashes, 

Flashes  a  moment,  and  dashes 
Like  spray  by  the  stars  to  be  kissed. 

Nay,  nay, 

'T  is  not  wave-mist. 
'T  is  a  star  that  thou  hast  not  seen; 

For  it  flashes  keen 
With  a  diamond  light  increased, 

And  it  comes  to  stay. 
'T  is  a  wave, —  't  is  a  star, —  't  is  an  arch, — 

'T  is  the  chord  of  a  harp  a-tune. 
It  wafts  thee  a  secret  thy  fancy  hath  never  heard. 
'T  is  a  luminous  golden  orb  with  expanding  wing. 
It  shakes  the  sea  from  its  breast  as  a  king-like  bird. 
'T  is  the  saintly,  impersonal  moon. 

As  a  godlike  thing 
With  solemn  and  dignified  motion 
She  rises, —  she  leaps, —  she  is  free. 
She  soars  away  on  the  constellated  march 

Of  the  deathless  Zodiac. 
Her  parting  smile  irradiates  the  ocean. 


150  THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA. 

It  lies  in  the  foaming  wake  of  thy  perilous  track. 
It  beckons  thee  onward,  not  back, 
'T  is  thy  pillar  of  fire  by  night. 
And  so,  with  her  virginal  kiss  on  thy  brow, 
Slumber  thou, 
Dream  thou  now 
Of  the  ultimate  Light ! 


SECOND   MOVEMENT. 

Urtams. 

O  PEARLY  themes  that  flutter  like  beams  of  the  moons, 
O  languid  dreams  that  swoon  in  the  arms  of  the  noons, 
Like  perfumes  of  blossoms  that  toss  on  the  roses  of 

bosoms, 
Like  spice-winds  that  pillow  their  sighs  in  the  tresses  of 

willow ! 
Like  a  passionate  prayer  from  the  lips,  like  a  star  from 

eclipse 

Roll  into  the  peace  of  the  soul  as  a  liquid  diamond  slips 
Down  cool  green  lotus  leaves  to  the  flame  of  the  budding 

tips! 

As  their  ruby  hearts  unfold  to  the  warm  noon  gold, 
Shell  within  shell  unrolled,  like  a  secret  told 
By  a  virgin  bride  without  fear  in  a  lover's  ear;  — 
So,  themes  of  his  delicate  dreams,  expand  in  gleams 
Of  glorified  visions  that  twine  as  a  garland  of  vine; 
Thought  that  shall  leap  from  a  thought  as  flame  from  a 

name, 

Rays  that  are  written  on  Time  as  a  blaze  that  came, 
As  a  blinding  blast  that  shot  from  the  womb  of  the  past, 
And  pierced  like   a  peerless  star  through   the   future 

far;  — 


152  THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA. 

Death  in  the  bloom,  like  a  child  that  shall  dance  on  a 

tomb ;  — 
Faith  that  hath  kissed  the  blue  mist  in  the  dome  of  the 

vast. 

But  see,  he  hath  plunged  in  its  sphere 
As  a  joyful  boy  in  the  cool  green  floods  of  a  mere. 
His  soul  is  light  as  the  wings  of  a  dragon-fly 
That  leisurely  dances  by. 

He  stands  by  the  dark  gray  gates  of  a  city  now; 
And  over  the  wreath  of  smoke  that  fringes  the  brow 
Where  castles  cling  like  an  oak  to  the  crumbling  crag, 
Mid  rumble  of  distant  drums  and  the  thunder  of  guns 
He  marks  with  a  breathless  hope  where  the  sudden  light- 
ning runs 

Of  a  Christian  flag;  — 
Flag  that  hath  leaped  from  its  faith,  as  a  flame  from  a 

name. 
O  imperial  name  that  is  written  in  deathless  flame ! 

Hark,  't  is  the  drums !  and  a  dark  line  comes 
With  a  trumpet  peal  o'er  a  wave  of  steel; 
Where  the  heroes  march  in  a  wide  blue  arch, 
And  the  chargers  prance  in  a  stately  dance. 
Each  knight  sits  light  with  his  thin  steel  lance 
Mid  banners  in  lanes  of  the  ribboned  manes; 
And  strict  in  time  to  the  martial  chime 
A  loud  hymn  reigns  o'er  the  proud  glad  plains. 


THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA.  153 

"I  see  afar  the  blaze  of  the  jewelled  tents 

In  circling  zones, 
And  in  the  midst  twin  thrones 
Like  new-born  stars  on  the  startled  firmaments." 

Hark  to  the  fife,  like  a  thin  keen  knife 

That  cuts  steel  ranks  on  the  Genii's  banks 

For  a  queen  set  light  on  a  charger  white. 

In  a  deep  black  band  the  turbaned  stand, 

And  bow  to  the  sweep  of  her  lifted  hand; 

While  the  stern  chiefs  come  like  Titans  dumb 

To  the  low  sad  tap  of  the  Moorish  drum, 

That  her  glove  may  seize  on  the  world's  gold  keys. 

"  In  this  vast  camp  of  Spain 
Where  plumes  of  knights  are  tossing  like  a  crested 

main, 

And  coronets  of  swords  shall  leap  with  diamond  tip, 
And  forests  of  bowed  heads  shall  dip 
At  curse  or  smile  on  royal  Isabella's  lip, 
I  come  to  grasp  the  silken  tangles  of  the  rein. 

Ah,  not  in  vain 
These  years  of  cold  disdain ! 
I  would  have  choked  my  pride. 
For  one  sweet  smile  I  would  have  crouched  and  died. 

But  now  all  glorified 
She  reigns  the  mistress  of  the  universes  wide ; 

And  I  shall  kneel,  and  cry :  — 
'O  gracious  lady  who  hast  bid  me  die, 


154  THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA. 

The  Lord  divine 
Now  consecrates  me  for  His  own  and  thine. ' 

"Still  cold  and  dumb? 
I  hear  the  heart-beat  of  a  muffled  drum, 
The  wailing  of  a  dirge  for  heroes  dead. 

And  dust  is  on  my  head ! 

"  O  blinding  blast  from  the  open  tomb  of  the  past ! 
Would  that  again  I  could  rest  on  my  mother's  breast!    j 
Would  I  could  lie  where  the  strife  of  these  years  should 

die, 
And  innocent  kneel  in  the  spells  of  the  village  bells ! 

"And  yet  I  knew;  and  yet  I  dimly  guessed 

When  as  a  guileless  boy 

I  climbed  the  steep  Ligurian  cliffs  in  lusty  joy, 
And  gazed  far  off  upon  the  dimpled  breast 
Of  blue-eyed  seas  that  slumbered  in  the  West. 
For  was  I  not  compelled 
As  by  a  great  hand  held 
To  gaze,  and  gaze,  and  gaze 
Through  tender  brooding  miles  of  purple  haze, 

Till  soft-winged  isles 
Seemed  lifting  orange  bosoms  to  the  sun's  last  smiles, 

And  my  light  will,  a  feather  free, 
Was  blown  like  a  trembling  bird  far  out  to  sea 
By  storm-winds,  Alpine-brewed,  of  passionate  proph- 
ecy? 


THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA.  155 

"  When  calling  to  the  straying  goats 

That  scrape  and  browse 
Where  silver-coated  olive  groves  in  sunshine  drowse, 

Or  climb  in  bleating  flocks 
For  verdant  vales  that  smile  among  the  splintered  rocks, 

I  heard  strange  notes 
Whispered  in  siren  tones  from  distant  dancing  boats. 

At  first  in  fear  I  hid. 

Then,  as  in  trance,  not  knowing  what  I  did, 
\  snatched  the  iron  cross  from  my  panting  breast; 

That  cross  my  mother  hung 
To  keep  me  ever  innocent  and  young. 
It  clung  to  me  as  if  it  were  a  hand  that  tenderly  caressed. 

But  with  one  parting,  burning  kiss 
I  stood,  and  flung  it  to  the  ether's  vast  abyss. 
Far  down  I  marked  it  like  a  circling  flame 

Sink  sunlike  in  the  wave. 
'O  God! '  I  cried,  ' whose  sweet  torn  martyred  frame 

Thy  Virgin  Mother  gave 
The  fierce  relentless  worlds  to  pacify  and  save, 

I  '11  follow  Thee, 
Thou  Master  who  canst  walk  upon  the  sea ! 

Whether  from  pole  to  pole 
Thou  lead'st  my  consecrated  soul; 
Be  it  to  jungle  heats  of  tropic  noons  that  tell 

Of  the  despair  of  hell, 
Or  to  the  caps  of  Hyperborean  ice 
That  crush  a  starving  world  in  hardening  crests  of  vice, 
Or  where  vast  silent  lands  like  unexpected  grace 


156  THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA. 

May  glorify  the  timid  ocean's  face, 
Be  it  for  gain  or  loss, 

I  '11  follow  thee 
Into  that  unknown  sea, 
My  Cross ! ' 

"Ah,  then  I  felt 
A  darkness  like  a  belt 
Drawn  close  around  me  as  in  ecstasy  I  knelt. 

And  a  slow  disappointing  chill 
Like  torture  crept  to  the  heart  of  my  yearning  will. 
And  then  I  knew,  as  now, 
That  I  must  die  as  Thou 
On  crumbling  naked  plains 
Outside  the  city  walls  where  ignorance  reigns; 
Alone,  misunderstood,  despised,  condemned,  in  chains." 

Death  in  new  bloom,  like  a  child  that  shall  dance  on  a 
tomb! 

Ah,  cross  of  my  doom,  let  me  die  with  my  Lord  in  the 
gloom ! 

Yet,  Faith,  thou  hast  kissed  the  blue  mist  in  the  dome 
of  the  vast. 

O,  fall  like  a  peerless  star  that  is  clear  to  the  last ! 
******** 

"  But  now  for  the  daring  of  deeds !  —  Where  these  des- 
olate piles 

Of  rat-haunted,  moss-planted  wharves  are  complaining 
for  miles; 


THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA.  157 

Where  the  blanched  and  decrepit  old  salt  like  a  ghost 

lingers  still 
With  his  tales  of  the  glory  of  eld,  till  he  pales  at  his 

story  of  ill; 
Where  the  mighty  facades  of  old  Genoa  painted  like 

skies 
Are  but  trappings  that  deck  a  dead  bride  on  the  strand 

where  she  lies;  — 
I  can  view  like  a  seer,  I  can  feel  as  a  soul  with  new 

senses 

The  East  beating  in  as  a  spice-laden  breeze  that  con- 
denses, 
Where  the  forests  of  masts  bear  the  fruit  of  the  opulent 

marts, 
And  ships  are  like  girls  at  a  fair,  and  the  world  all  ablaze 

with  her  arts, 
And   the   scar-smitten  men  are   like  Argonauts  newly 

returned 
With  the  foam  of  the  sea  on  their  lips,  and  the  blood  in 

their  veins  as  it  burned.  — 
But  visages  turbaned  and  dark,  and  scimetars  curved  like 

a  moon 
Have  swept  with  their  Turcoman  wrack  as  a  storm  on  a 

hidden  lagoon. 
And  the  heroes  and  ships  are  no  more ;  and  the  story  of 

yore 
Is  heard  in  the  streets  like  the  echo  of  surf  on  a  shore. 


158  THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA. 

"  But,  my  Lord ! 

O  my  drowning,  my  crucified  Lord ! 
That  this  torrent  of  devils  abhorred 
Should  dishonor  the  shrine  of  Thy  grave ! 
What  is  gold,  what  is  art,  what  is  fame 
In  the  curse  of  this  shame  to  Thy  name  ? 

With  Thy  summons  to  save 
I  could  rush  through  the  world  like  a  breath  of  avenging 

flame; 
I  would  dare  the  vile  monsters  of  seas  where  a  ship  never 

strayed ; 

I  would  carve  me  a  way  through  the  void  with  my  blood 
on  my  blade 

In  the  stress  of  that  blessed  crusade ! 


"But,  behold! 
There  is  need  of  the  gold 
To  bid  for  the  charter  of  kings,  and  to  mellow  the  hearts 

of  the  cold. — 

Through  the  sea !     Through  the  paths  of  the  sea !  — 
And  hath  He  not  beckoned  me  on  to  a  mission  untold?  — 

Through  the  sea  to  the  West !  —  Can  it  be  ?  — 
Through  the  West  to  the  East !  —  O  my  God,  through  the 

darkness  to  Thee ! 
Where  the  roofs  are  ablaze  with  the  wealth  Thou  hast 

stored  for  my  fee ! 

Where  even  the  Khan  in  his  tents  shall  hail  me  with 
bend  of  the  knee ! 


THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA.  159 

And  the  rays  of  the  midnight  sun  behold  like  a  pageant 

unrolled 
Where  the  curtains  of  time  are  upfurled  o'er  the  stage  of 

a  unified  world ! 


"  O  themes  of  my  passionate  dreams,  expand  in  the  gleams 
Of  these  glorified  visions  that  whirl  like  a  cloud  in  a 

pearl, 
Where  thought  follows  thought  as  a  flame  that  shall  swirl 

from  a  flame, 
As  a  prophecy  written  on  time,  as  a  burning  star  for  an 

aim, 
Thy  Star  of  the  East  that  hath  shot  from  the  tomb  of  the 

past, 
And  pierced  like  a  lance  through  the  bar  of  the  ocean 

far, 
And  sent  me  my  faith  like  a  star  in  the  dome  of  the 

future  vast !  — 

#####:*:*# 

"  O,  but  how  slow  is  time !     How  cold,  how  slow 
My  white-haired  tides  of  effort  ebb  and  flow ! 
How  like  a  baffled  mist  I  flutter  to  and  fro ! 

With  restless  questionings 
I  chase  the  mocking  phantoms  of  my  kings. 

With  straining  eye 
I  trace  on  endless  maps  the  outlines  of  my  misery. 

What  gain  to  me 
To  follow  hollow-eyed  the  shifting  contour  of  the  sea?  — 

Not  to  the  South 


160  THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA. 

Where  foam  the  heated  tides  from  Niger's  mouth 
I  'd  steer  these  foolish  ships.  — 

My  needle  dips 
Forever  to  the  West  where  fancy  slips 

Down  endless  planetary  slopes, 
And  in  the  bitter  sea  of  disappointment  gropes 
The  wreckage  of  my  hopes. 


"  Yet  once,  when  near  the  pole, 
A  strange  aurora  stole 
Over  the  frosty  darkness  of  my  soul. 

On  Thule's  strands 

Where  Hekla  like  a  priestess  lifts  gray  hands 
Out  of  the  crystal  tent  in  which  she  stands, 
A  wondrous  thing 
I  heard  a  poet  sing 

Of  islands  in  the  West  where  blooms  perpetual  Spring, 
Where  suns  at  midnight  shine 
O'er  vales  of  golden  vine, 
And  gods  and  heroes  press  the  nectar  of  their  wine.  — 

O  for  that  liquid  gold !  — 
But  now  the  juicy  body  of  my  will  grows  old. 

The  vines  and  veins  of  hope  run  deathly  cold. 
I  think  the  evening  bell  of  my  lost  faith  hath  tolled. 


"Ah,  toll,  sweet  bell! 
Toll,  toll 


THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA.  161 

Forever  as  a  balm  to  some  excruciated  soul; 

Sweet  bell,  whose  surges  swell 

Like  dancing  lights  upon  the  waters  of  a  stagnant  dell, 
Like  visions  of  a  saint  in  penitential  cell ! 
Toll 
Well 

Where  surges  roll 
In  a  dirge's  knell! 
Read  as  a  creed  from  a  scroll 
The  secrets  thy  sobbings  tell ! 

Roll 

To  the  uttermost  steadfast  pole 
Of  a  Christian  martyr's  goal! 

Swell 

As  the  cold  white  mornings  stole, 
As  the  shivering  sunlight  fell 

When  the  Christ  was  vainly  mocked  by  the  litanies  of 
hell! 

Bell 
Toll, 
Swell, 
Roll, 
It  is  well 
For  the  soul ! 
Now  high  to  the  roof  fling  the  spears  of  thy  leaping 

spell ! 

Now  low  at  the  base  of  the  tomb  lay  the  fears  and  the 
years  of  our  dole !  — 


162  THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA. 

11  But,  fierce  as  a  river  that  scoffs  at  the  bondage  of  chains, 
And  proud  as  the  ghost  of  a  cloud  that  rides  over  the 

plains, 

I  mock  atthee,  bells;  at  the  shock  of  your  insolent  yells. 
I  crave  no  relief.  Let  me  quaff  to  the  full  of  my  grief ! 
Let  me  clasp  her  and  kiss  her,  my  sorrow,  and  laugh  at 

her  sting ! 
Like  a  knife  let  her  cut  to  my  life !     Let  my  parted  lips 

cling 
To  the  darling  keen  edge  of  the  sword  of  Despair,  and 

be  wrapped  in  her  hair !  — 


"  O  bell,  like  a  passionate  prayer,  like  a  star  from  eclipse, 
Like  the  dancing  of  lights  in  the  misty  white  marsh  of  a 
dell, 

Toll,  toll,  sweet  bell,  and  roll 

O'er  the  peace  of  the  world,  as  a  liquid  diamond  slips 
Down  cool  green  leaves  to  the  blood  of  these  foaming 
lips! 

Read  as  a  screed  from  a  scroll 
The  secrets  thy  throbbings  tell, 
Like  a  sobbing  saint  in  his  cell; 
Shell  within  shell  inrolled,  like  a  sin  untold 
By  a  penitent  maid  in  the  fear  of  a  master's  ear !  — 
Lips  for  the  knife,  though  it  cut  to  the  heart  of  my  life  !  — 
Faith  that  hath  kissed  the  sweet  strife  like  the  tears  of  a 
star  through  the  mist ! 


THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA.  163 

"  O  Faith !  Faith !  Faith !     O  thou  soul  which  art  freed 

from  a  wraith ! 
Though  the  body  lie  cold,  and  the  bells  of  thy  dirge  be 

tolled, 
Upspringing,   outwinging,   with    a    joy   like   a   skylark 

singing; 

Spurning  the  mourning,  the  scourge  of  calamity  scorning, 
Hearing  but  wedding-bells   ringing,  and  burning  with 

light  of  the  morning, 
Breathing  sweet  perfumes  of  blossoms  that  cross  on  the 

meekness  of  bosoms, 

Proud  as  the  prance  of  a  steed  that  rides  over  a  cloud ! 
I   cling   like   a   waif   of    the   sea   to  the   skirt  of   thy 

shroud, 

Like  a  sailor  a-sea  in  the  surf  to  a  rock  that  is  browed 
By  the  sad  white  smile  of  a  dove  as  she  flies  to  her 

love ;  — 
Like  a  dove  as  she  flies  to  the  breast  of  her  God  in  the 

skies; 
Like  a  love  as  it  lies  in  the  depths  of  two  beautiful 

eyes : — 
To  my  Faith  let  me  rise  !     Let  me  leap  to  the  star  of  my 

prize !  — 
On  this  altar  of  light  where  the  tapers  are  burning  all 

night, 

And  the  pillars  of  shades  lie  about  in  the  dark  colon- 
nades, 
Where  the  sense  with  sweet  savor  is  dim,  and  the  silence 

lies  pure  like  a  hymn, 


164  THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA. 

I  shall  vow  to  Thee,  bountiful  Christ,  like  a  prince  of 

the  blood  I  shall  shower 
The  wealth  of  the  world  on  Thy  tomb,  and  the  bloom  of 

my  strength  for  Thy  dower ! 

"  O  Faith,  my  soul  is  swept  in  thy  whirling  clasp, 
And  twined  with  the  spiral  flame  of  a  distant  bell 
Into  some  vast  new  plane  of  pure  white  thought.  I 

grasp 
Earth's   crystal  secrets,  crowns   of   thorns    in   many  a 

martyr's  cell. 
And  naked  facts,  like  startled   souls  at  the  trump  of 

doom, 

Leaving  their  body  of  tangled  lies  in  the  tomb, 
Gaze  at  me  earnestly  face  to  face 
In  this  far  cool  focus  of  space. 
Suns  turn,  and  spurn,  and  burn 
Like  sacred  jewels  each  set  in  a  silver  urn. 

Stars  whirl  and  swirl 

In  their  pathway  of  diamond-powdered  pearl; 
Each  planet  lifting  her  dainty  aural  robes 
From  the  trailing  dust  of  the  globes 
With  the  swift  wide-skirted  swing  of  a  joyful  dancing 
girl. 

Across  blue  oceans  of  Nothing 
Currents   of   pale   magnetic  rivers  are  seething  and 

frothing; 

Thought,  like  a  soul-spun  gauze 
Of  cometary  laws, 


THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA.  165 

Weaving  eternal  bands, 

As  the  flush  on  the  cheek  of  the  cold  North  maid  expands, 
Without  hurry  or  pause. 
And  cool,  and  far, 

And  still, 

Seated  like  Fate  in  a  fixed  gold  car, 
Somewhere  in  the  nebulous  wake  of  the  polar  star, 
With  His  little  finger  that  pulls  as  a  primal  will 
God  sweeps  the  orderly  skeins 

Of  the  cobweb  reins 
That  hold  the  worlds  in  the  netted  leash  of  inexorable 

chains ;  — 

And  every  winge"d  mote  like  a  needle  speeds  to  those 
silent  lanes. 

"And  Earth, 

Dear,  sweet,  round,  horne"d  cup  of  the  waxing  Earth, 
Blessed  as  the  focal  choice  of  the  Christ  for  birth, 

An  open  book  thou  art  spread ; 

Each  deed  of  thine  a  potent  prophecy  writ  large  in  red; 
Each  second  a  seed  of  infinite  fruit  or  weed  that  shall 

spread  and  spread; 
Each  soul  a  trickling  dainty  theme  self-sung  on  a  timid 

reed, 

Until  the  heart-burst  of  its  melody  is  freed 
Into  the  wild  chromatic  rush  of  a  symphony  overhead ! 
And  thou,  dark  slippery  slope  of  a  sea  unstable 
That  would,  if  it  could,  obliterate 
The  encausted  record-stroke  of  Fate ; 


166  THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA. 

Thou  foolish  flirt,  whom  the  strong  true  core  of  this  ball 

holds  firm 

To  the  bed  of  an  endless  hymeneal  term, 
The  numbered  arcs  of  thy  bond  are  graven  as  if  on  a 

silver  table ! 

"  O  Christ,  how  every  dotted  island  teems 
With  the  potent  agonizing  bliss  of  Thy  dying  dreams ! 

All  far-blown  faces,  and  races,  and  spaces 
Are  merged  like  drops  in  the  omnipresent  sea  of  Thy 

luminous  graces :  — 

Dwarfed   Ethiopians   who   dare   the   furnace   of   sand- 
choked  wind, 
And  dark  soft-spoken  ruby-merchants  from  the  templed 

rivers  of  Ind, 
And  moon-bosomed  languid  Arabian  girls  that  sigh  for  a 

kiss  as  they  play 
In  broken  notes  like  a  sob  on  the  zither  at  close  of 

day, 

And  yellow  fur-clad  gentlemen  that  hawk  with  the  tented 
Khan, 

Or  in  fish-scale  armor  covetous  scan 
The  blue  of  the  rifted  sea  that  hides  the  gold-towered 
roofs  of  Japan ;  — 

All  these, 
And  as  many  more  as  the  shrunken  earth  may  please, 

Thine  anointed  Admiral  shall  seize, 
And  lead  to  the  tomb-throned  capital  of  Thy  Monarchy 
of  Man ! 


THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA.  167 

"O  pray,  pray,  pray, 
Thou  sobbing  cathedral  bell  with  thy  tones  of  earth's 

sombre  gray, 
Now  shot  with  the  throbbing  of  bursting  stars,  now  dark 

with  the  doom  of  dismay ! 
I  kneel  in  the  gloom  of  the  flickering  wax,  and  the  saints 

on  the  altars  sway; 
And  the  shadows  creep  with  the  promise  of  sleep.  —  But 

thy  clarion  cries  'Away! ' 
I  leap  to  my  feet  with  a  sword  in  thy  beat;  and  the  cold 

white  kiss  of  the  day 
Slips  in  through  a  door  like  a  ghost  on  the  floor.  — The 

friars  are  coming  to  pray. 

O  pray,  pray,  pray, 
Dear  peaceful  golden  souls  enwrapped  in  the  hood  of 

earth's  sombre  gray, 
Whose  tidal  dreams  of  bridal  themes  breathe  love  in  a 

fleshless  ray ! 

My  passion  blends  with  God's  pure  ends, 
Where  prayer  like  a  folded  air  ascends. 


"Peace,  infinite,  deep, 
Lies  in  the  arms  of  Resignation,  like  a  babe  asleep. 

'T  is  not  these  earthly  prayers  alone. 
I  hear  sweet  choirs  who  hymn  pure  bliss  at  the  foot  of 
the  throne." 


168  THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA. 

O  glorious  themes  of  their  faith  like  the  crimson  of  lotus 

blossoms ! 

O  pure  white  petals  of  folded  hands  on  the  crystal  mir- 
rors of  bosoms ! 
O  priceless  pearls  from  their  lips !     O  flames  from  their 

finger-tips ! 
Roll  over  the  face  of  his  soul  as  a  diamond  tear-drop 

slips :  — 

Prayer  within  prayer  unrolled,  as  the  word  God  told 
Of  eternal  love  in  the  dear  sweet  shell  of  the  Virgin's 

ear! 
Roll  into  the  peace  of  the  world,  as  the  soft  gray  dawn 

that  stole 
Round  the  crucified  Saviour's  head,  and  sang  as  an  Easter 

aureole, 
When  the  faces  of  angels  came,  and  smiled,  and  kissed 

the  pang  from  His  soul ! 


THIRD   MOVEMENT. 
Wettoing 


IF  in  melody 
Pure  truth  were  spoken, 

If  on  harps  of  glee 

All  dark-eyed   falling  rays   to   shimmering  stars  were 
broken, 

Then  were  things 
Flames  with  wings 
Lightly  in  one  another  floating,  as  a  skylark  sings. 

Yes,  each  ripe  morn 
Blown  from  a  silver  horn 

Would  wreathe  itself  in  harmony  of  love  for  souls  new 
born; 

Each  heart-drop  sorrow-drawn 

Would  melt 

As  crystal  flute-notes  felt 

In  pulse  of  dove-like  flight  o'er  buoyant  symphonies  of 
dawn. 

So  star-browed  angels  fly 
On  wings  of  echoing  notes 

To  some  far  Alpine  call  of  a  hero's  horn  that  floats 
Down  blue-lit  corridors  of  sky; 
169 


170  THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA. 

Fly  in  wide  sympathetic  rings,  and  pause,  and  hark 
To  the  new-strung  chorded  rim  of  the  ocean's  arc 
Where  three  white  ships  like  breathless   swallows  are 
skimming  by. 

As  when  moons 
Through  flooded  heaven 
Trail  trumpet-petalled  tunes 

In  silver  tendrils  o'er  the  diamond  trellis  of  the  astral 
seven, 

So  this  flight 
Of  a  tragic  night 

Flashes  a  radiant   message  to  the   farthest  nebulae  of 
light  ;- 

Yea,  unseen  spheres 
Sweeps  in  its  song  of  years 

For  crested  choral  hosts  aflame  with  their  organ-pipes  of 
spears, 

Spears  of  auroral  rose 

That  quiver 
Like  sunsets  on  a  river, 

Or  the  crimson-hearted  song  that  bursts  when  a  lotus 
blossom  blows. 


O  listening  silver  sphere, 

What  do  you  hear 

When  the  round  blue  shell  of  the  universe  is  curled  at 
your  ear? 


THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA.  171 

What  have  the  comets  done 
To  the  lips  of  the  sun? 

What  whispers 
Of  penitent  meek  lispers 

Steal  to  your  far  confessional  like  the  sigh  of  a  dove-eyed 
nun? 


Low  bells 

Now  twinkle  through  the  sky  like  stars  from  dimpled 
wells. 

Fair  white -winged  maidens  stand 
Who  fling  the  trailing  gauze  of  their  torches  wide 
O'er  the  delicate  fern-like  limbs  of  a  virgin  land, 

Of  an  innocent  dreaming  bride. 
O,  unkissed  cheek  of  a  moon  that  the  pillows  of  spaces 

hide! 

O  golden  tresses  of  autumn  leaves  outspread ! 
O  spicy  breeze  that  sighs  from  a  maiden  heart, 
They  smile  as  they  beckon  a  strange  white  prince  to  part 
The  foaming  lace  of  thy  bed. 


Dear  patient  bride  of  Time, 
For  thee  the  unborn  planets  dream  they  chime; 

As  Orphic  melody 
That  floats  upon  an  unsuspected  harmony; 

As  a  babe's  eye  uncloses 
In  wonder  at  a  waving  mystery  of  clustered  roses; 


172  THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA. 

As  if  sighs 
Of  sense  first  won  in  losing  Paradise ! 

As  if  stars 
With  hearts  were  throbbing, 

As  if  silver  bars 
In  quivering  minor  melody  of  love  were  sobbing, 

So  the  curve 

Where  white  ships  swerve 

Sweeps  with  a  tremulous  moon- edged  kiss  to  the  lips  of 
a  naked  nerve ; 

And  startled  miles 
Dreaming  of  love's  strange  smiles 
With  a  shiver  twang  the  emerald  harp  of  their  thousand 
isles; — 
And  bridal  torches  burn 

Like  eyes 

O'er  jewelled  lawns  of  skies 

Where  laughing  angels  dance  as  light  as  the  tiptoe  dew 
on  a  fern. 

O  dance  as  light 
As  a  fawn,  sweet  night ! 
And  let  the  starlight  bring 
The  echo  of  the  melody  you  sing. 

The  liquid  metre 

Of  wind-swept  pearl 
Where  cloud-nymphs  bathe 
In  an  upland  tarn 


THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA.  173 

Is  clear  as  the  ripple 

Of  nights  that  swathe 
The  rounded  limbs 

Of  a  white  moon-girl. 

Sweet  as  the  twitter 

Of  Pleiad  swallows 
That  build  gold  nests 
In  the  purple  eaves, 
The  placid  hours 

With  dove-like  breasts 
Their  love  are  cooing 
In  dark  cool  hollows. 

And  nebulous  milk 

Of  blue-veined  skies 
That  feeds  twin  orbs 
In  the  lap  of  dawn 
Is  pure  as  the  fire 

The  soul  absorbs 
From  the  love-lit  font 
Of  the  virgin's  eyes. 

Ah,  hero,  drink  thy  fill 
Of  the  fiery  breath  of  God's  will ! 
Upon  thine  ears 

Converge 

Through  whispering  galleries  of  the  years 
The  murmurs  of  the  surge 


174  THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA. 

Where  swooning  lipless  voices 

Clamor  for  rebirth. 
Like  a  waked  god  rejoices 
This  captain  of  yon  caravel  of  earth. 
He  leaps  upon  the  rainbow  bridge  of  hope,  and  scans  far 

seas 
Through  star-lensed  mysteries. 

No  spirit  realm 
Is  stranger  to  his  helm. 

The  peal 

Of  his  trumpet  cry 
Cuts  like  a  keel 
Upon  Eternity. 

Bring  scarlet  lilies 

That  wander  breathless 
O'er  Martian  meadows 
In  fluted  fire ! 
And  kneel  in  the  hush 
Of  Lunar  shadows; 
And  spin  gold  crowns 
For  a  hero  deathless ! 

Where  leaping  shuttles 
Of  meteors  pattern 

The  pale  brocade 
Of  the  astral  film 
Now  tangle  his  hair 

With  diamond  braid, 


THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA,  175 

And  twine  his  fingers 

With  rings  of  Saturn ! 

And  soft  as  feathers 

Of  suns  that  hover 
O'er  milky  waters 
Where  star-maids  hide, 
Now  bare  your  bosoms, 

Uranian  daughters, 
To  pillow  the  brow 

Of  your  sleeping  lover ! 

So  shall  we  set  him  on  a  polar  throne, 

And  lay  his  hand  upon  earth's  loosened  zone. — 

O  bliss 

Of  a  martyr's  wedding-kiss! 

Hath  not  each  Christ  who  whispers  down  the  years 
Seen  triumph  blurred  through  halo-crowns  of  tears  ? 
As  if  a  truth-swept  burning  glass  should  melt 
With  the  concentrated  agony  it  felt? 
O  agony  of  tears,  now  blessed  as  wine ! 
Immortals  drink  thee  with  a  sob  divine. 
And  Bodhisattwa,  clad  with  tainted  flesh, 
Crowned  with  the  sting  of  blood-warm  sins  that  mesh 
Their  diamond-hearted  wills,  o'ertop  the  world. 
Like  unseen  germs  in  pulp  of  fruit-cells  curled 
Their  thoughts  swell  rooted  in  the  brains  of  kings. 
The  very  heavens  are  stirring  with  their  wings 
Of  rosy-hued  idea.     The  Easts  and  Wests 


176  THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA. 

Are  held  in  their  two  hands;  and  on  their  breasts 
Lie  child-eyed  prophecies  of  faiths  and  creeds; 
And  new-born  worlds  are  twined  like  crystal  symphonies 
of  beads. 

Ah,  play  on  the  sorted  reeds 
Of  plaintive  years  that  slip 

Like  yearning  beads 
Of  deep  unutterable  prayer 

From  a  holy  lip ! 
And  dance 

O'er  crystal  slabs  of  air 
As  light  as  the  gossamer  trip 

Of  million-footed  Chance ! 

\ 

Come,  play  on  the  flutes 
Of  tempered  eons ! 
Come,  dance  on  the  pebbles 
Of  time-worn  suns ! 
Let  young  moons  pipe 

With  their  silver  trebles ! 
Let  comets  prance 

To  the  earth's  proud  paeans! 

Shoot  hymns  of  lightning, 
O  maids  with  torches, 
Through  unploughed  tracks 
Where  the  planets  race ! 


THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA.  177 

Bow  down,  ye  Lords 

Of  the  Zodiacs, 
While  thunder  rolls 

Through  your  pillared  porches ! 

To  the  silken  tent 

The  bridegroom  flashes 
As  a  star-kiss  throbs 
In  the  earth's  warm  breath. 
Now  close  it  with  curtains 

Of  silver  sobs; 
And  pin  it  with  diamonds 

That  slip  from  your  lashes !  — 

O  sweet  veiled  virgin  land  that  lies  like  a  leaf 

In  the  cup  of  the  seas,  in  the  lap  of  the  drifting 

skies, 
Drink  softly  thy  draught  of  dreams,  for  the  night  is 

brief, 
For  the  cool  still  touch  of  the  morn  on  thy  shoulder 

lies! 

Lay  bare  the  bud-like  founts  of  thy  bridal  grief ! 
Like   a  widowed  nun  with  tears  thou  shalt  wash  the 
pearls  of  thine  eyes. 

As  a  tragedy  leaps  from  its  germ  of  deed,  when  a  star 

Is  born  of  the  clash  of  suns  in  a  fate-swept  path, 
So  souls  like  steeds  are  spurred  by  the  gilded  car 


178  THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA. 

To  the  plunging  doom  of  their  death,  or  in  foaming 

wrath 

Are  whirled  by  the  charioteer  in  a  circle  far 
Down   haggard   face-browed   lanes   of    a   hero's  after- 
math.— 

Must  the  liquid  metre  break 

On  a  storm-swept  lake  ? 
And  mar  with  its  wailing  bitter 
The  Pleiads'  placid  twitter? 
Shall  not  the  hero's  diamond-hearted  will 

O'ertopall  ill? 
Then  let  the  piping  eons 
Dance  to  the  earth's  proud  paeans! 

For  if  in  trailing  tunes 
Heaven  shall  vibrate  to  the  pang  of  new-born  moons, 

If  discord  only  strengthens 
The  Titan-hearted  harmony  it  lengthens, 

Shall  not  these  blood-notes  quiver 
As  if  a  million  ruby  blossoms  floated  on  a  tranquil  river? 

As  if  some  new  melodic  sense 

Were  born  of  senses; 
As  if  the  sun-burst  of  omniscience 

Were  shot  from  the  seven-hued  ray  that  a  crystal  soul 
condenses; 

So  an  immortal  ear 
The  pure  white  truth  shall  hear 


THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA.  179 

As  if  it  filtered  through  a  soundless,  formless,  stainless 
atmosphere. 

How  can  it  race 
O'er  broken  strings  of  place, 

For  everywhere  is  omnipresent  in  one  burning  focal  point 
of  space? 

How  can  it  rhyme 
O'er  rhythmic  lapse  of  time, 
For  God  hath  swept  etherial  pulses  into  one  limpid  lake 

of  love  sublime? 

As  bubbling  springs  where  tear-eyed  nymphs  have  rule, 
The  soul  wells  up  with  insight  clear  and  cool. 
Each  diamond-hearted  brother 
Shoots  rays  into  another; 

And  all  things  lie  about  on  one  another's  breast  like  lotus 
petals  in  a  pool. 


So  the  pure  motive  of  the  bridegroom  speeds 
As  if  an  opal  bird  had  dropped  to  an  emerald  nest  of 
reeds. 


But  what  if  he  bear  the  sting 

Of  a  mortal  thing, 
And  bind  with  the  silken  chain  of  a  self  the  bride's 

unconscious  wing? 
What  if  he  stain  with  a  tear  the  virgin  lace  of  her 

bed?  — 


180  THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA. 

Ah,  Psyche,  thy  bed  is  the  vast  white  ocean  of  human 
suffering; 

And  his  the  awful  kiss  of  a  soul  with  its  own  true  free- 
dom wed ! 


When  out  of  the  calm  cool  gray  of  the  primal  night 
God's  thoughts,  breathed  light, 

Like  clouds  on  the  pearly  wing  of  the  morning  flew, 
No  sense-refracted  ray, 

No  tear-stained  dream  of  a  separate  self  they  knew. 
Like  babes  they  lay, 

Or  folded  petals  asleep  in  the  soft  white  arms  of  a  dew. 

As  tender  flocks  of  tune 
Carol  upon  symphonic  interludes  of  glee ; 

As  if  a  single  dimpled  moon 

Showered  a  million  diamond  kisses  on  the  crescents  of 
the  sea; 

So  in  a  nesting  mood 
Shall  selfless  spirits  brood, 

Cooing   to   one   another    in   the   ecstasy  of    dove-like 
brotherhood. 

To  stand  upon  the  brink ! 
In  crystal  depths  to  sink 

Where  saints  in  clear  community  of  purpose  think ! 
Not  as  a  mere  drop  lost; 
But  as  a  new  note  tossed 
Into  the  overwhelming  organ-floods  of  Pentecost ! 


THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA.  181 

O  white  baptismal  font  of  impersonal  fire ! 

We  dip  in  thee 

Our  helpless  naked  individuality, 

And  fling  our  separate  beaded  wills  like  pearls  on  a 
funeral  pyre ! 


He  who  seeks 
Shall  find ;- 
Whether  on  mountain  peaks, 

Or  in  the  desert  wind; 
Whether  with  white  dumb  hands  he  shrieks 

To  the  future  deaf  and  blind; 

Whether  on  wasted  knee  bespeaks 

The  lonely  God  of  his  mind. 

But  where  shall  the  soul  aghast 

Woo  its  true  self  in  fierce  immortal  agony  of  passion  ? 
Upon  what  deserts  of  the  haggard  crowd,  in  what  gray 

garb  of  penitential  fashion 
Shall  it  invoke  the  purity  of  its  long- forgotten  past? 

Bathed  in  the  sweet  virginity 
Of  this  young  land  that  rises  like  a  shell-nymph  from 

the  sea 
Behold,  O  man,  the  perfect  crisis  of  thy  opportunity ! 

By  bitter  balm  of  conflict  purified, 
Alone  shalt  thou  be  worthy  of  thy  starry  bride. 


182  THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA. 

Not  as  the  lawless  denizen  of  Greed; 
But  as  the  loving  citizen  self-freed 
Pouring  his  life-stream  into  the  ocean  of  the  common 

need. 
O  fertile  prophecies  that  laugh  on  a  wedding  morn ! 

O  dispensation  newly  born ! 

For   thee  the  systems  waited,  for  thee   the   planets 
floated 

Like  smoke-wreaths  ruby-noted 

From   the   molten  core  of  Time  outblown  through  the 
lips  of  his  silver  horn. 


If  on  wing  of  melody 
The  past  reborn  came  flying; 

If  in  burst  of  prophecy 

The  future  sang  its  heart  out  in  one  note,  like  a  skylark 
dying; 

And  if  the  sweet-lipped  themes 
Of  these  twin  sister  streams 

Were  pressed  into  the  single  rosy  petal  of  an  angel's 
dreams;  — 

Then  the  whole  fronded  world 
Into  this  downy  seedling  moment  furled 
Would   sing  to   itself,  like   God  before  one  gossamer 
thought  uncurled. 

So,  night  without  a  parallel, 

Sing  on,  sing  well, 

As  with  the  bursting  heart  of  Nature  prisoned  in  thy 
sapphire  shell ! 


THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA.  183 

As  if  the  very  blisses  of  the  bride 

Were  charged  with  all  the  motherhood  of  ages  to  be 
crucified ! 

As  if  the  bridegroom  heard 

The  pinion  of  a  Dove 

Whirring  amid  the  boundless  transports  of  his  love, 
And  brooding  with  the  very  impregnation  of  the  Primal 
Word! 


O  bridal  night 
Veiled  in  thy  spirit  robe  of  white ! 

O  panting  wave 
Of  sea-green  goddess  in  a  glassy  cave ! 

O  sky  atune ! 
O  perfect-breasted  moon 
Cold  with  the  splendor  of  a  marble  slave ! 
O  braided  stars  upon  the  brow  of  Dawn ! 

And  Pleiads'  nests 
Under  the  purple  Wests ! 
And  dove-eyed  Lyra  brooding  on  the  lawn  ! 
And  thy  keen  sword,  Orion ! 
And  thou,  O  sun-tamed  Lion ! 
And  thou,  again,  great  polar  heart 
That  pinn'st  the  winged  universe's  spiral  chart!  — 

All  ye,  and  millions  more 

That  teem  in  violet  life  upon  the  farthest  astral  shore ! 
Whirr  up  in  one  transcendent  blast  of  wings; 
And  fill  the  jasmine  melody  that  swings 


184  THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA. 

From  the  pale  yellow  of  magnetic  stems, 
And  flings  the  cup-like  magic  of  its  hems 
O'er  the  soft  naked  wilderness  of  things!  — 
Now  in  one  last  ecstatic  canticle,  ye  moments,  blend, 

That  mote-like  rush  upon  the  flaming  end; 
One  perfect  note  of  wedding  bells  to  rise  and  sink 

Upon  the  drum-like  brink 
Of  steel-blue  corded  hemispheres, 
Where  now  the  mortal  signal  of  the  years 
Is  sounded  for  the  fainting,  dying  world  in  elegies  of 
tears ! 


FOURTH   MOVEMENT. 
Ctmmpfj. 

HARK  !     From  afar  elemental  voices  prophesying ! 
Hist !     'T  is  the  tune  of  the  sirens  of  the  deep ! 
Mark  where  yon  star  to  an  altar-flame  is  magnifying ! 
List  to  the  moon  like  a  sibyl  in  her  sleep ! 
Hark  through  the  mist, 

List 

For  a  shiver  like  a  wind  upon  a  glassy  river ! 
List  through  the  dark, 

Hark 
For  a  rattle  like  the  omen  of  a  coming  battle ! 

Mark 

Where  the  spark 
Of  a  trumpet  like  a  lark 
Cuts  against  the  dawny  flashing  of  the  dark ! 

List 
While  the  murmur  of  the  mist 

Dies  away;  — 

Dies  away  in  the  sobbing  of  the  spray, 
Of  the  spray  of  silver  falling  on  a  pool  of  amethyst ! 
185 


186  THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA. 

Who  waits 
With  calm  white  bosom  veiled  beyond  the  gates, 

Where  long  cool  chords  of  braided  sleep 
Trail  with  their  stifled  dooms  upon  the  deep? 

A  breathless  hush  of  wonder 
Listens  for  avalanches  of  the  muffled  thunder. 
Some  blood-stained  conqueror  kneels  awhile  to  weep. 

"  Sleep,  midnight  pure. 
I  hang  this  harp,  my  heart,  within  the  spiral  void  of 

thy  delay. 
The  ministrel  of  the  dawn  is  sure. 

'T  is  sweet  to  pray. 

How  often  have  I  prayed  the  night  away, 
Slipping  on  keels  of  eager  glances  into  the  silent  onset 
of  the  gray! 

"  How  calm  to  velvet  lips  the  moonlight  nestles, 
As  if  a  Lilliputian  fleet  of  silver  vessels 
Were  spreading  nautilus  sails  to  mermaids'  breath ! 
How  the  hushed  drowsy  zephyr  dreams,  and  listens 
To  catch  the  beaded  sleep  that  on  the  fringe  of  mid- 
night glistens  1 

And  the  whole  sea  is  pulseless  with  the  poppy-ecstasy  of 
death !- 

"  But  what  is  it  glares  and  swirls  with  a  trumpet-clarion 
plume  from  the  helmeted  vortex  of  space?  " 


THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA.  187 

.    "  Naught  but  the  breaking  moon  on  the  mast !  " 
"A  blinding  golden   Christ   out-burst  like  a  furnace- 
bloom  from  the  womb  of  yon  rifted  place ! 

Didst  thou  not  see?" 

"  Only  the  swerve  of  a  prow  that  ploughs  to  the  furrowy 
edge  of  the  vast; 

A  shadow  that  wings  to  the  lee !  " 


Hark !     From  afar  elemental  whispers  penetrating ! 

Hist !     'T  is  the  croon  of  the  yearning  of  the  sea ! 
Mark  where  yon  star  with  a  diamond  kiss  is  scintillating ! 

List  to  the  moon  like  a  mermaid  in  the  lee ! 


"  O  wild  suspense ! 
O  spasm  of  ecstasy  intense ! 
O  agonizing  moment  like  a  knife ! 
Was  it  the  mortal  steel-keen  edge  of  an  earthly  light? 

Was  it?  —  I'd  give  my  life 

Did  it  not  curse  with  the  mocking  glare  of  a  hell- 
born  sprite ! " 

"Nay;  it  could  be  but  the  blade-like  hair  of  the 
moon  out-streaming." 

"  O  cruel,  cruel  dreaming ! 

"  'T  is  now  the  very  breathless  dead  of  the  night. 
The  moon  hath  set  in  the  track 
Of  a  winged  goblin  black. 


188  THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA. 

The  breeze  is  light. 

No  sound  to  trouble 
The  ear,  but  a  silver  bubble, 
A  rounded  hope  that  breaks 

In  hollow  aches !  — 


"  But  what  is  it  puffs  like  a  swift  pale  passionate  lip  in 

the  half-furled  sail  on  the  great  cross-tree?  " 
Hark!     'T  is  the  prayer  of  an  altar-flame  afloat! 
"  O  Christ-like  voice  of  a  Judgment  lightning-bell  that 

shook  wild  orbs  from  the  heart  of  the  sea !  " 
"  'T  is  a  star !  "  —  "  'T  is  a  light  afloat  like  a  tossing 

boat! 

It  flickers  as  fire-flies  weave  their  ominous  golden  gleams 
with  the  braided  grasses !  "  — 

"  Steady !  —  It  glimmers !  —  It  passes 
As  if  like  a  luminous  snake  it  glided  through  trees  that 
shrank  on  a  distant  shore  !  "  — 

"  Blank  heaven !     'T  is  drowned  once  more !  — 
Again  it  lives !  —  It  swims !  —  It  swerves  like  a  lantern 
that  waves  on  a  strand !  — 

O  bursting  prophecy  of  the  ages  grand ! 
It  thrills  to  my  soul !     It  throbs  like  a  living  flame  in 
my  hand !  — 

'T  is  land!     'T  is  land  !  - 

"  O  star  of  salvation !    O  blessed  exhalation ! 
O  ecstasy  boundless !     O  frenzy  of  forces ! 


THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA.  189 

'T  is  the  flame  of  the  land !     Let  its  fierce  exultation 
Prance   up   through   the   blood   like    a   legion   of 

horses ! 

Come,  leap  from  your  slumber,  ye  argonauts  splendid ! 
To  your  knees  on  the  deck!     On  your  wings  to 

the  shrouds ! 

Burn  rockets  of  triumph  for  martyrdoms  ended ! 
And  waft  your  white  prayers  like  a  dove  to  the 
clouds ! 


"The  heavens  are   melting;  —  they   swoon   in   their 

gladness. 

The  womb  of  great  Nature  is  bursting  with  blisses  ! 
O  helmsman,  thou  Anak,  stand  firm  through  thy  mad- 
ness ! 

O  comrades,  embrace  me,  I  pant  for  your  kisses  ! 
Flash  lights  to  the  Nina  !     Shout  horns  to  the  Pinta  ! 

0  Martin  Alonzo  !  immortals  together 

We  have  shared  the  cold  scorn,  we  have  dared  the 
dark  winter. 

1  crown  thee,  my  brother,  with  stars  of  spring  weather  ! 


"  The  past  is  forgotten.     A  truce  to  all  rancor  ! 

I  bless  ye,  dear  children,  who  weep  as  ye  kneel.  — 
Now  leap  to  the  windlass  !     Uncoil  the  great  anchor  ! 

Stanch  hopes  of  the  dawn,  how  ye  throb  through  the 
keel! 


190  THE  DISCOVERY   OF  AMERICA. 

Here  are  crowns  for  our  toil !     Here  is  balm  for  all 

doubting  ! 
'T  was  the  Virgin  who  flew  with  Her  wings  .on  our 

masts  ! 
I  hear  the  far  blessing  of  cherubim  shouting. 

Let  them  shake  the  thin  walls  of  the  sky  with  their 
blasts  !  " 


O  blast  of  disruption  triumphant !     O  wail  of  the  travail 

of  ages  ! 
O  shudder  and  shamble  of  planets  a-tremble  with  doom 

as  it  rumbles  ! 
Cold  dews  of  the  new  are  upon  thee ;  the  curse  of  the 

blood  of  the  sages  ! 
The  world  splits  apart  with  a  crash,  and  the  dome  of  the 

elements  tumbles  ! 
And  onsets  of  steeded  archangels  have  torn  up  the  tents 

of  old  orders  ! 

And  pillars  of  nations  dissolve  in  the  breath  of  the  ram- 
pant marauders  ! 
And  quakings  have  swallowed  the  sun  !     And  the  core  of 

the  universe  crumbles  ! 


And  curses,  like  shrieks  of  a  Dawn  when  typhoons  from 

their  ambush  of  Caliban  lair 
Have  streaked  a  black  clutch  of  demoniac  claw  through 

the  pale  shredded  gold  of  her  hair, 


THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA.  191 

And,  tearing  pearl  mantles  to  tatters,  have  snatched  the 

nude  pink  of  the  manacled  nymph, 
And  stifled  the  sobs  of  her  swoon  in  the  drowning  sea- 
bloods  of  her  own  native  lymph ;  — 
So  curses  of  dark  swollen  crisis  outburst  counter-blasts 

to  the  challenge  of  morn. 
So   paeans   of  triumph  swept  back  in  a  curdled  recoil 

through  the  jaws  of  her  horn. 
And  impotent  engines  of  time  fanned  the  terrified  air  with 

recalcitrant  wing, 
Like  daring  black  plumes  of  a  crow  crested  back  by  the 

hurricane  hails  of  a  Spring. — 
Till,  shot  from  the  uttermost  angle  of  space,  blazed  the 

rocket-like  star  of  the  Master ; 
And  legions  of  light  through  the  infinite  corn-fields  of  suns 

leaping  faster  and  faster 
Swept  down  through  the  shaft  of  the  visible  void  with  the 

crash  of  triumphant  disaster  !  — 
And  though  worlds  lay  in  stratified  wreck  on  the  beaches 

of  systems,  and  perilous  sheens 
Of  the  crystalline  levels  of  sprays  spurted  o'er  the  thin 

hulls  of  these  Spanish  marines, 
Yet  the  hymn  of  the  purpose  of  God,  pulsing  bliss  through 

their  hearts  like  a  balm,  was  as  oil 
On  this  turbulent  tide  of  their  fate,  and  set  finger  of  calm 

on  the  lips  of  turmoil.  — 
And  the  black  ruffled  plumes  of  the  morn  settled  back  on 

her  pearly  soft  neck  all  a-quiver.  — 
And  something  sailed  out  from  the  rim  of  the  sea  like  the 

ghost  of  a  swan  on  a  river.  — 


192  THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA. 

O  hark  to  the  hiss  of  yon  spark,  as  it  cuts  with  a  Damas- 
cene kiss  to  the  dome  of  the  dark  ! 
O  list  to  the  treacherous  tune  of  the  sirens  that  swim  to 
the  mystical  whim  of  the  moon  ! 

O  wait  at  the  gate  of  the  gray  ! 
O  kneel  as  ye  reel  to  the  sibilant  sobbing  of  spray  ! 
O  wait  in  the  tryst  of  the  cool  amethyst  for  the  recreant 
maiden  of  day  ! 

But  hark  !  't  is  a  horn  ! 
But  list  to  the  chant  of  the  dawn  ! 
There  is  thrill,  there  is  whisper  of  morn  ! 
The  unseen  Conqueror  whirls  his  skirmish  of  lancers  afar 
on  the  lawn  ! 


Hark,  from  afar  to  the  jubilee  reverberating  ! 

Hist !     T  is  the  tune  of  the  dancers  of  the  sky  ! 
Mark  where  yon  star  like  a  pillared  flame  is  coruscating  ! 
List  while  the  croon  of  the  eons  flutters  by ! 
Pause  as  ye  kneel, 

Feel 

For  the  fingers  of  a  sympathetic  past  that  lingers  ! 
Kneel,  and  beseech, 

Reach 
For  the  tresses  of  a  future's  virginal  caresses  ! 

Reach 

Till  the  passion  of  your  speech 
Dies  away  on  far  horizons  like  a  tide  upon  a  beach  ! 

Kneel 
With  a  sacrament's  appeal 


THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA.  193 

While  the  will  of  the  Supreme 
Lifts  the  planet-folded  curtain  from  the  secret  of  His 

dream ; 
Wakes  the  consecrated  ages  with  the  breaking  of  His  seal ! 

"  O  morning  of  glory  !     O  wonderful  story  ! 

We  shall  see  the  gold  roofs  where  the  sunlight  is 

gleaming  ! "  — 

List !     'T  is  the  doom  of  an  ominous  delay  !  — 
"  Nay,  flames  of  the  land  in  their  joy  transitory 

Shall  melt  in  realities  sweeter  than  dreaming."  — 
Hark  !     'T  is  the  gloom  of  a  wing  upon  the  gray  !  — 
"  Vast  temples  like  palms  shall  o'ertop  the  blue  moun- 
tains. 

Fair  maidens  shall  kneel  on  the  beeches  like  wil- 
lows."— 

Hist !     'T  is  the  spume  of  the  sirens  in  the  bay  !  — 
"  And  sages  like  gods  shall  recline  where  cool  fountains 
Fling  down  their  gold  braids  to  the  breasts  of  the 

billows."  — 
Mark  !  't  is  the  plume  of  the  demon  of  the  spray  !  — 

"  O  tense  expectation  ! " 
Now,  heave  once  again  with  thy  travail,  vast  womb  of  the 

Earth  ! 

"  O  dawn  of  salvation  !  " 

Thine  offspring,  the  Sun,  hath  awakened.     He  burns  to 
the  birth  ! 


194  THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA. 

"  O  dance  through  my  blood  !  " 
The  legions  of  vapors  have  snatched  him,  and  wrapped 

him  in  fire  ! 

"  Shout  flames  to  the  flood  !  " 

He  reigns  like  a  God  on  the  throne  of  their  hottest 
desire  ! 

Parched  by  his  sovereign  blast 
The  siren  of  the  sea-mist  breaks 
Her  tangled  coils  in  lingering  golden  flakes 
That  swirl  in  dimming  breath  athwart  the  pennon  on  the 

mast. 

The  stranger  Tritons  lean  in  gaping  crowds, 
Hanging  on  bowsprits,  flocking  like  nesting  gulls  among 

the  shrouds, 

Peering  in  breathless  wonder  through 
For  emerald  sheens  to  streak  the  mottled  marquetry 
of  blue. 

"Dost  see  it?"     "No, 
T  was  but  the  lazy  turtle  of  a  cloud-bank  low 

Pawing  the  murky  tide."  — 
"  There  !  in  yon  purple  whale  that  looms  his  verge 

Upon  the  starboard  side  ! " 
"  Can  you  not  hear  the  muffled  gulping  of  the  surge, 

As  if  some  slimy  passion  monster-lipped 
Over  the  naked  bosom  of  a  sandbar  slipped?  "  — 
"  Hush  !  for  the  yeoman  sun  now  ploughs 

His  yoked  quadruple  team 

Where    winged    flocks    upon    the    steaming    upland 
browse  ! "  — 


THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA.  195 

"  O  jewelled  gleam 

Of  diamond  lace  that  droops  upon  a  throbbing  rosy 
neck ! " 

"  Look  where  the  braided  fleck 
Of  foaming  breath  in  spangles 
Leaps  like  a  toying  han<J  that  tangles 
The  fringe  of  palmy  hair  upon  the  reefs  ! " 

"  Now,  —  now 

The  curtain  lifts,  —  and  lifts  !  " 
"  We  shall  behold,  perchance,  the  beetling  brow 

Of  snowland  drifts  !  " 
"  O  thrills  !  "     "  O  joys  !  "  —  "  O  griefs  ! 
'T  is  but  a  desert  wilderness  of  level  staring  greens  !  " 

"  There  are  no  crystal  sheens, 
Or  azure-skirted  clouds  of  inland  peaks  ! 

Only  a  few  familiar  creeks 
That  loll  with  listless  arm  against  the  drowsy  bosom  of 

the  land  !  "  - 

"Yet  is  it  God's  own  strand  ! 
Crescents  of  solid  blessing  bounding  this  slippery  salt 

abyss  ! 

O,  I  could  fling  a  million-winged  kiss 
To  every  lisping  leaf  that  croons  in  the  lap  of  yon 

palms  ! 
Ye  crested  doves  of  calms  !  "  — 

"  Away  !  below  !  away  ! 
Don  proudest  daintiest  array 
To  grace  this  first  glad  Christian  holiday, 

This  first  mad  feast 
Drunk  with  the  plighted  East !  " 


196  THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA. 

"  Quick  float 
The  passion- breasted  curve  of  each  eager  boat !  " 

"  Stand,  and  be  wrapped  in 
The  imperial  flag  of  thy  monarchs,  Captain  ! 
Sailors,  salute  again 
This  first  vice-regal  reign  ! 

Behold  your  Cosmos-conqueror,  the  vested  Admiral  of 
Spain  ! " 

O  blessed  astronomer  ! 
Who,  fired  with  hope, 

Point'st  the  spear-gathering  eye  of  thy  telescope 
To  some  miscalculated  altitude  of  dark ; 

Where  yet  thine  eye  shall  mark 
An  unexpected  new-waked  planet  stir 

Upon  a  stranger  arc  ;  — 
Now,  thou,  O  Neptune's  priest ! 

Whose  blood-drawn  charts  like  polished  lenses  magnify 
Thine  altars  of  the  East ; 
Though  thy  swift  prow  may  fly 
Straight  through  the  vast  impossible  as  an  arrow-beam  of 

light, 
Yet  hast  thou  struck  a  dark  unreckoned  orb  that  bars  thy 

flight. 

The  very  failure  of  thy  bitter  shame 
Shall  lend  a  starry  splendor  to  thy  name  ! 

Now,  streaking  through  the  tide 
As  avalanches  slide 


THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA.  197 

Down  the  blue-green  enamel  of  the  hills, 

Each  petrel  shallop  thrills 
To  blooded  brawn  that  sledges  at  the  tholes ; 

And  lips  of  parching  souls 
Suck  the  warm  greens  of  fancy's  tender  juices. 

Up  through  the  palm-fringed  sluices 
Where  amorous  Atlantic  pouts  his  melting  mouth 
Steeped  in  the  spicy  ardors  of  the  South 

Against  twin  coral  lips, 
Where  the  warm-blooded  island  sips 
The  trembling  passion  of  his  lazy  swoons 
Through  the  hot  fanning  of  the  naked  noons, 

The  helmsmen  steer. 
The  liquid  languor  of  the  atmosphere 
Adopts  them,  laps  them  to  the  milky  softness  of  its  bosom. 

They  see  white  cups  of  lilies  blossom 
Their  brimming  hearts  away  in  odor  of  a  lotus  dream. 

Where  now  a  clear  cool  stream 

Sifts  through  its  crystal  hair  the  golden  minnows  of  the  sand, 
They  beach  upon  the  land. 


Gliding  through  the  palm  leaves, 
Crouching  'neath  the  grasses, 
Where  the  liquid  calm  leaves 
Shadow  as  it  passes, 
Flash  of  raven  tresses  ! 
Chestnut  nakednesses  ! 
Vain  the  guesses, 
Be  they  forest  lads  or  lasses. 


198  THE  DISCOVERY   OF  AMERICA. 

No  Paynims,  these ; 
Or  polished  ivory  Chinese ; 

Nor  Ethiopian  imps 
Scanned  through  the  snake-like  glimpse 

Of  Afric's  murky  river  ! 
Crested   with   butterfly   plume,   and    a    rainbow-winged 

quiver, 
And  smeared  with  melting  drops  of  golden  rings, — 

a  prize 

For  salt- encrusted  eyes, — 
A  leopard-lithe  and  cypress-stalwart  chief 
Breaks  from  his  covert  tawninesses  of  banana  leaf ; 

And,  with  the  timid  bronzes  of  his  train, 
Prostrates  himself  before  these  white  immortals  of  the 

main.  — 

Two  cherished  streams  from  primal  human  fount, 
Parted  by  some  far  prehistoric  mount, 
To  flow  in  one  another  on  forever 

One  double-tinted  river 
From  this  first  moment  of  fraternal  years  !  — 
Now  doth  the  Admiral,  prince  among  his  peers, 
Flash  to  the  cloudland  shore  amid  the  crimsons  of  Olym- 
pian splendor ; 

As  when  the  sun  alights  with  glances  tender 
Upon  the  purple  passion-world  of  skied  Acropolis. 
And  from  the  radiate  prows  they  leap,  as  canopies 
Of  jewelled  clouds  to  tent  their  monarch's  glory. — 
Up  from  the  glooms  of  Aryan  shadows  hoary 
They  flock  like  gilded  cormorants,  and  swoop 


THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA.  199 

Upon  the  eel-like  shore.     A  steel-winged  troop 
Of  God's  avengers,  sword  in  hand,  they  swirl. 

Above   their  viking    heads   embroidered    battle-flags 

unfurl. 

And  hymns  swell  fan-like  from  the  templed  sod 
To  bless  the  Mother  of  these  gods'  own  God. 
Then  doth  Columbus  kneel,  and  lave  his  face 

In  the  warm  billowy  bosom  of  the  bridal  sands. 
And  stately  are  the  loyal  words  that  grace 
Their  twin-locked  monarchs'  memory.     He  stands 
One  instant,  like  a  king  that  grasps  all  space  :  — 
Then  walks  in  silence  down  the  savage  shore. 
And  time  flows  on  as  placid  as  before. 

Ah,  hero  !  hast  thou  felt 

A  shadow  of  the  darkness  like  a  belt 

Folding  thee  close  ?     And  wilt  thou  press  it  down 

Upon  thy  forehead,  like  a  thorny  crown  ? 

And    dost   thou   sense    the    martyred   blood-drops 

trickle, 
Thou  fruiting  ripeness  for  the  Reaper's  sickle  ? 


O  what  is  it  lurks  in  the  heart  of  the  diamond  atoms  of 

time,  like  a  pestilent  poison  brewing? 
Hark  !     T  is  the  undertone  of  demons  as  they  mock  ! 
What  querulous  scud  of  an  ominous  storm  through  the 

creaking  portals  of  purpose  is  whining  and  mewing  ? 


200  THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA. 

Hist !     T  is  the  wings  of  the  elemental  flock  ! 
List !     'T  is  the  whetting  of  their  swords  upon  the  rock  ! 
O  blast  of  disruption,  O  jealousy  pale,  now  the  skeleton 
lair  of  thine  ultimate  evil  unlock  ! 


O  shriek  of  defiance,  of  hate  that  endangers  thin  bonds 

of  the  continents  double  ; 
Defiant  despair  with  its  gathering  charges  of  blackness,  as 

hurricanes  bubble 
From  founts  of  the  glacial  granite,  and  grimly  annihilate 

time  with  their  trouble  ! 
Now  hark  to  the  hiss  of  this  garrulous  crew  the  swift  doom 

of  their  madness  pursuing  !  — 
"  Yes,  press  us,  ye  tyrants  of  gods,  if  ye  dare  !     We  Ve 

enough  of  your  secret  undoing. 

Have  you  thrown  us  as  hostage  these  wretches  of  Span- 
iards to  torture  and  crush  in  our  maw, 
As  once  long   ago   you  were  forced  to  surrender  your 

crucified  King  of  the  Law  ? 
This  world  is  our  own ;  and  no  hint  of  its  wealth  shall  go 

back  with  your  robbers  to  Spain. 
We  Titans,  and  dragons,  and  gorgons,  and  vultures,  and 

slimy  green  crabs  of  the  main, 
We  send  you  a  bat  for  our  herald  to  parley !    Quick,  yield 

to  our  right,  or  be  slain  !  " 

O  crests  of  the  morning  !     O  blades  of  the  gloaming  ! 
O  knights  of  the  splendor  !     O  Lords  of  Creation  ! 


THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA.  201 

The  nebulous  squadrons  of  chargers  are  foaming ; 

And  legions  wheel  out  from  each  far  constellation. 
The  blood  of  the  martyred  lends  spur  to  their  valor. 

No  Paladins  strong  as  the  Christs  who  have  died  ! 
O  tremble,  ye  myrmidon  braggarts  of  pallor, 

And  kiss  the  steel  glove  of  the  God  ye  defied  ! 


Now,  hurled  like  a  hurricane  hand  when  it  reaches  wild 

grasp  for  the  zenith  of  noons, 
Then  combing  like  tides  thunders  down  on  the  world  with 

the  snarl  of  embattled  typhoons, 
Mid  crests  of  sea-horses  that  spume  to  Cimmerian  skies 

their  hoar  ices  of  sprays, 
Or,  sucked  to  the  depths  of  maelstroms,  gulp  down  the 

rich  boil  of  Tellurian  blaze  ;  — 
So  swung  the  sheen-crescents  of  Michael  that  swept  with 

bent  tails  to  the  uttermost  stars ; 
So  legions  of  lightning  split  opulent  space  with  their  crests 

of  beatified  Mars ; 

And  flung  the  dread  weight  of  Olympian  wills  on  the  chat- 
tering hordes  of  the  devils  !  — 
O  fierce  coruscations  of  ranks  superposed,  gold  on  gold, 

flaming  levels  on  levels 
Over  stratified  crests  of  the  steeled  chevaliers  their  auroras 

of  spectral  dishevels  !  — 
As  they  mount  where  the  hoofs  of  victorious  steeds  thunder 

sparks  from  the  flint  of  their  helms, 
As  they  mount,  as  they  mount  like  the  scaling  of  tides  to 

the  rims  of  Cyclopean  realms, 


202  THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA. 

Where  the  fumes  of  their  manes  sweep  away  with  the 

silver  of  scud  to  the  swash  of  the  skies ;  — 
Now  damn  with  the  vengeance  of  dominant  doom,  and 

the  quench  of  the  blood  in  your  cries 
Those  green  crumpled  lights  of  a  serpentine  gloom  in  the 

hollows  of  impotent  eyes ;  — 
Till,  chained  in  some  vast  subterranean  tomb  where  En- 

celadus  scoffs  at  their  sighs, 
He  shall  stifle  with  curds  of  crude  matter  their  insolent 

wrangle  and  chatter ; 
Where  the  dragons  that  trail  with  the  imps  shall  be  shrunk 

to  the  crawling  of  shrimps, 
And  inordinate  blasts  of  typhoons  lie  encaged  like  limp 

gas  in  balloons  ! 
For  the  faith  of  the  True  in  the  New  is  as  sure  as  the  God 

in  the  blue ; 
And  the  seeds  of  corruption  breed  cold  in  the  gangrenous 

limbs  of  the  old. 
And  though  heroes  be  butchered  by  scores,  and  their 

bodies  be  sown  to  the  mould, 
Yet  the  blood  of  the  Christs  silvers  up  in  the  lilies  of 

Easter,  and  gold 
Streaks  the  eve  of  Gethsemane's  sweat  with  the  splendors 

of  purpose  untold  ! 

O  hark, 

From  afar ! 
T  is  a  lark! 

T  is  a  star  ! 


THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA.  203 

'T  is  the  star  of  salvation  that  rides  like  a  king  through  the 
triumphal  arches  of  noon  with  the  sun  in  his  car  ! 

But  list 

To  the  tune 
Of  the  mist 

In  a  swoon, 

As  it  hooks  its  bent  horns  with  the  stratified  islands  of 
palms  like  the  floating  white  wraith  of  a  mariner- 
moon  ! 

But  kneel 

Where  they  reach 
Like  a  keel 

On  a  beach, 

As  they  plant  a  strange  foot  at  the  root  of  a  cactus  that 
weeps  bloody  blossoms  too  heavenly  fragrant  for 
speech ! 

O  sing 

With  the  hymn ! 
As  a  wing 

Let  it  swim 

In  a  curving  blue  wake  through  the  dissonant  billows  of 
space  to  the  Virgin  enthroned  with  her  pink  cher- 
ubim ! 

O  hark  !  O  hark  !  O  pray, 
Ye  dear  warm  lingering  faiths  of  a  dying  day  ! 


204  THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA. 

O  day  unparalleled  on  couch  of  rosy  feathers  dying, 
Thy  elemental  voices  still  are  prophesying. 
Still  shall  the  tuneful  sirens  of  the  deep 
Drag  thy  triumphal  car  that  rides  sublime 

Over  the  irridescent  waves  of  Time 
To  where  new  curtained  continents  fore'er  recede,  and 
sleep. 

O  hark  !     O  hark  ! 
Over  the  globing  oceans  slide  thy  last  immensities  of  arc. — 

Now  hath  thy  true  astronomer  and  priest 
Reached  o'er  the  darkling  bar  with  free-built  arch 
Where  we  shall  see  his  grander  purpose  march 
Round  flaming  inward  altars  to  the  crystal-hearted  East. 

His  triumph  is  not  bounded 
By  the  vast  bustle  of  this  world  of  stepping-stones  he 

founded ; 
But  by  the  consummation  of  his  plan 

To  weave  all  creeds 

And  teeming  blossoms  of  the  rarest  human  seeds 
To  deck  the  tomb-throned  Union  of  his  Monarchy  of 
Man  ! 


But  buzzing  croons 

That  whizz  among  the  gurgles  of  bassoons, 
Where  curly  pearls 
In  vortices  of  whorls 
Scoff  like  demonic  faces  in  the  moons ; 
Or  sibilant  shimmers 


THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA.  205 

That  hang  low  branches  of  their  palmy  glimmers 

To  mummer  mimics  of  the  lullabied  lagoons  ;  — 

These  still 

Up-spill 

From  sulphurous  chasms 

The  spurting  spasms 
Of  incorrigible  will ; 
Like  buzzing  flies 
That  choose  where  noonday  dries 

The  slimy  ooze  of  greening  marshes  for  their  minstrelsies  ; 
Or  crocodiles  that  snooze  with  snorting  cries, 

Or  hissing  drag 
Their  scaly  lengths  a- swish  among  the  shivers  of  sweet  flag. 


And  is  there  then  no  end  of  stifled  woe  ? 

We  do  not  know. 
We  can  but  keep  the  faith 
Even  when  sucked  between  the  shredded  jaws  of  death ;  — 

Even  as  he, 

The  first  and  last  begotten  hero  of  the  sea. 
We  can  but  let  the  twofold  music  sigh,  and  die  away ; 

As  if  a  maiden's  hand 

Led  some  dark  shipwrecked  thing  along  the  strand 
Until  their  voices  blended  with  the  evanescent  murmur 
of  the  spray. 

So  now  all  subtlest  natures  seem 
To  melt  upon  the  soft  etherial  bliss  of  the  Supreme. 
And  perfect  silence  turns  the  numbered  pages  of  a  dying 
theme. 


NOTES. 


"  O  sweet  dead  artist  and  seer."  —  p.  14. 

Kano  Hogai,  into  whose  mouth  I  put  the  following  summary  of 
Eastern  life,  was  the  greatest  Japanese  painter  of  recent  times,  a 
genius  whose  penetration  to  the  heart  of  early  oriental  ideals 
seemed  like  special  inspiration.  He  was  for  years  one  of  my 
dearest  friends,  and  in  Japanese  art  my  most  valued  teacher.  I 
have  represented  him  as  the  re-incarnate  spirit  of  oriental  art.  His 
death  in  1888  was  a  national  calamity. 

"  Where  the  orange  temples  of  Kasuga  shine."  —  p.  14. 

The  ancient  city  of  Nara,  the  capital  of  Japan  in  the  eighth  cen- 
tury, still  glories  in  a  grove  of  mighty  pines  and  cedars  which 
sweep  away  for  a  mile  to  the  Eastern  mountains,  sheltering  the 
dainty  buildings  of  the  great  Shinto  temple,  Kasuga.  Wild  streams 
have  torn  narrow  beds  through  it.  Venerable  Buddhist  monasteries 
flank  it  on  the  north.  Archseologically,  Nara  is  the  treasure-house 
of  Japan.  There  in  the  spring  and  summer  of  1886  I  spent  with 
Hogai  many  weeks  in  delightful  study. 

"  Which  the  snow- clad  virgins  in  cloister  dim."  — p.  15. 

These  maidens  of  Kasuga  are  consecrated  to  the  service  of  the 
gods,  and  at  intervals  celebrate  the  symbolic  dance  called  "  Ka- 
gura." 

"  Mid  statues  of  Buddha  the  meek."  —  p.  16. 

Hogai  first  visits  the  North  Indian  capital  of  the  Scythian  king, 
Kanishka,  who  about  the  beginning  of  the  Christian  era  held  the 

207 


208  NOTES. 

first  Council  of  Northern  Buddhism,  whence  the  canon  was  later 
disseminated  to  Central  and  Eastern  Asia.  At  this  Cashmerian 
centre,  in  an  outburst  of  creative  fervor,  the  new  ideals  of  a  rich 
and  profound  faith,  large  enough  in  its  plan  to  satisfy  the  spiritual 
needs  of  a  continent,  were  first  adequately  externalized  in  forms  of 
Hellenic  derivation.  Many  fine  relics  of  this  so-called  Greco- 
Buddhist  sculpture,  including  a  haughty  portrait  statue  of  the  Tartar 
Constantine  himself,  have  been  excavated,  and  are  mostly  preserved 
in  the  museum  at  Lahore. 

"  The  great  Vasubandhu  to  mark."  —  p.  16. 

Vasubandhu,  the  greatest  follower  of  Nagarjuna,  and  one  of  the 
most  important  patriarchs  in  the  line  of  esoteric  transmission,  was 
a  man  whose  extraordinary  spiritual  and  intellectual  endowments 
enabled  him  largely  to  mould  the  subsequent  course  of  Northern 
Buddhism,  much  as  St.  Paul  did  that  of  Christianity.  He  is  the 
author  of  numerous  works  which  remain  to-day  a  corner-stone  of 
Japanese  Buddhism.  It  is  not  certain  whether  in  old  age  he  was 
present  at  the  Northern  Synod;  but  his  spirit  was  doubtless  domi- 
nant in  the  person  of  its  president,  his  disciple  Vasumitra.  A 
portrait  statue  of  Vasubandhu,  preserved  in  Nara,  shows  us  a  face 
of  enormous  power. 

"  Now  moss  like  a  pall."  —  p.  16. 

When  the  Chinese  pilgrim  Hiouentsang  visited  these  sacred 
seats  in  the  seventh  century,  he  found  them  already  in  pitiful  ruin. 
The  Greco-Buddhist  relics  which  he  brought  to  China  became  the 
germ  of  a  lofty  religious  art  throughout  the  Tang  Dynasty,  and  in 
Corea  and  Japan  during  the  eighth  century.  A  trace  of  this 
Hellenic  quality  has  never  died  out  in  the  art  of  the  latter  country. 

"Back  to  thy  pious  imperial  prince."  —  p.  17. 

Hogai  refers  to  Taitsongthe  Great,  the  second  Emperor  of  Tang, 
through  whose  toleration  Buddhism  was  to  make  rapid  strides; 
and,  speaking  of  himself  as  one  of  Kanishka's  sculptors,  he 
predicts  his  rebirth  as  Godoshi  (Wutaotse),  the  greatest  religious 
painter  of  Tang. 


NOTES.  209 

"  Gather  these  Bodhisats, 
And  battle-scarred  features  of  grim  Arhats."  —  p.  17. 

These  are  the  titles  of  two  degrees  in  Buddhist  saintship.  The 
Arhat,  in  Northern  Buddhism,  is  one  who  has  attained  only  sub- 
jective purification  by  withdrawing  from  the  world.  He  bears 
marks  of  the  severity  of  his  ascetic  discipline.  A  Bodhisattwa  is 
one  who,  through  the  passion  of  divine  love  for  men,  has  mingled 
with  the  evil  of  the  world  and  overcome  it,  thus  winning  a  leader- 
ship in  the  overshadowing  army  of  the  good.  He  is  represented 
as  of  beautiful  face  and  heavenly  mien. 

"And  the  masterful  heads  of  Scythian  knights."  — p.  17. 

These  are  the  four  archangels  militant,  whose  statues  stand  at  the 
corner  of  every  ancient  altar.  They  are  represented  as  stamping  on 
evil  in  the  form  of  a  distorted  imp.  There  can  be  little  doubt  that 
the  military  costume  of  these  figures  in  early  Chinese  and  Japanese 
examples  is  borrowed  from  the  trappings  of  ancient  Scythian 
generals.  The  finest  specimens  extant  are  at  Kaidanin  of  Nara, 
modelled  in  clay,  of  life  size,  and  dating  from  the  commencement 
of  the  eighth  century. 

"  Blue  gods  unmoved  in  everlasting  flame."  —  p.  18. 

The  art  of  the  Tang  Dynasty  became  strongest  in  religious 
painting.  Symbolic  figures  of  large  size  and  mystic  import  were 
painted  on  the  walls  of  temples  in  firm  outline  and  rich  color.  Of 
these  the  Bodhisattwa  Fudo,  whose  name  signifies  "  The  Unmoved," 
was  depicted  as  blue,  and  seated  in  the  midst  of  orange  flame.  The 
colors,  halos,  flames,  and  clouds  of  such  paintings,  represent  the 
spiritual  aura,  currents,  and  conditions  generated  by  these  lofty 
beings. 

"Black  bronze  in  an  infinite  mould."  —  p.  18. 

The  highest  creative  power  of  Northern  Buddhistic  art  was 
reached  in  early  Japanese  bronze  sculpture,  which  clothes  with 
the  dignity  and  beauty  of  a  Greek  reminiscence  the  noblest  sug- 
gestions of  superhuman  spiritual  types.  The  finest  remains  are  the 


210  NOTES. 

colossal  statues  in  the  temple  Yakushiji,  near  Nara,  cast  in  the 
eighth  century,  of  a  metal  which  in  color  resembles  polished  ebony. 

"  O  crystalline  flash  at  the  bar  of  billows."  —  p.  18. 

Hogai  now  transfers  the  scene  of  his  description  to  China.  I 
have  chosen  from  the  several  periods  of  Chinese  culture  that  most 
typically  artistic  one  of  the  later  Sung  Dynasty,  whose  idealistic  out- 
burst of  Buddhist  illumination  in  the  twelfth  century  rendered  its 
capital,  Hangchow,  a  birthplace  of  inspired  forms.  Marco  Polo 
describes  the  city  as  he  saw  it  some  years  later,  and  we  have  minute 
contemporary  records  of  it  in  Chinese  poetry  and  painting.  It  lay 
a  few  miles  inland,  between  the  Sientang  Estuary  and  the  beautiful 
"  Western  Lake,"  surrounded  by  groves  and  picturesque  mountains, 
among  whose  nooks  and  crags  grew  mossy  temples  and  secluded 
villas,  where  worked  the  artists,  poets,  statesmen,  and  philosophers 
of  that  golden  age.  The  flavor  of  its  intense  life  I  have  attempted 
to  suggest  in  the  following  passage. 

"  Of  soul  in  the  infinite  warmth  of  things."  — p.  19. 

The  central  mood  of  this  Chinese  idealism,  drawn  from  the  Zen 
(Dhyan),  or  contemplative  sect  of  Buddhists,  was  the  vital  realiza- 
tion of  nature  as  a  storehouse  of  spiritual  forms.  Not  by  way  of 
cold  abstraction,  or  of  a  labored  symbolism,  but  as  seen  in  flashes 
of  devout  insight,  did  the  world  become  to  man  a  mirror  of  his  own 
soul.  Never  elsewhere  has  the  passion  of  faith  inspired  such  a 
profound  study  of  external  beauties.  It  is  the  well  of  oriental 
landscape-art. 

"  There  Love  is  a  law,  and  the  Law  is  an  art."  —  p.  20. 

Here  too  the  noble  Eastern  theory  of  the  "  musical "  relation  of 
human  beings  to  one  another  in  a  heaven- ordained  spiritual  brother- 
hood received  for  a  time  its  most  notable  realization. 

"Farewell  to  the  dawn  in  the  meadow."  —  p.  21. 

Hogai  now  expressly  transfers  the  picture  to  his  native  Japan  in 
a  lament  for  its  vanishing  glory  and  innocence.  I  have  tried  in  the 


NOTES.  211 

following  pages  to  realize  something  of  the  delicate  charm  and 
significance  of  Japanese  life  and  art  at  their  best.  Here  is  a  flavor  so 
subtle  as  to  elude  direct  expression.  It  was  the  perfect  striking  of 
an  extreme  note  in  the  scale  of  human  culture. 

"Leap  of  the  carp."  —  p.  26. 

Well-known  scenes  of  Japanese  out-door  life  are  referred  to  on 
this  page.  At  the  garden  of  Kameido,  near  Tokio,  a  wonderful 
trellis  of  low-hanging  wistaria  is  thrown  across  a  temple  pool 
stocked  with  fish.  The  shrine  is  dedicated  to  the  scholar  Michi- 
zane,  in  whose  worship  the  faithful  cow  has  become  a  symbol. 

"Basking  like  kittens  in  the  love  of  their  mothers."  —  p.  25. 

One  who  has  been  admitted  to  the  intimacy  of  Japanese  house- 
holds, regrets  the  untrustworthiness  of  some  authorities  who  declare 
this  people  devoid  of  family  life  and  affection. 

"Pray  to  the  holy  snow-white  Queen."  —  p.  25. 

This  is  the  Bodhisattwa  Kuannon,  the  beautiful  female  spirit  of 
Providential  Love,  as  represented  in  contemplation  on  a  rock  by 
the  sea. 

"The  Buddha  of  Infinite  Light."— p.  26. 

I  refer  to  Amida.  As  the  central  blinding  Splendor  of  the 
universe,  he  approximates  to  the  Christian  conception  of  God  the 
Creator. 

"  One  priest  white-robed  who  seemed  to  glide."  —  p.  27. 

His  Reverence  the  Archbishop  Keitoku,  of  the  Tendai  sect  at 
Miidera  temple  on  Lake  Biwa,  I  still  look  up  to  as  my  most 
inspired  and  devoutly  liberal  teacher  in  matters  religious.  Precious 
were  the  days  and  nights  I  had  the  privilege  of  spending  with  him 
in  the  vicinities  of  Kioto,  Nara,  and  Nikko.  He  was  a  lofty  living 
exemplar  of  the  spiritual  knighthood.  He  passed  from  the  visible 
form  in  1889. 


212  NOTES. 

"  Since  the  days  when  Kukai  hurled 
His  dart  from  the  Chinese  world."  —  p.  27. 

Kukai,  or  Kobo  Daishi,  one  of  the  three  great  founders  of 
Esoteric  Buddhism  in  Japan,  spent  many  years  of  his  youth  in 
study  at  a  famous  Chinese  monastery.  About  to  return  to  his 
native  country  early  in  the  ninth  century,  he  meditated  long  con- 
cerning the  site  of  his  projected  temple.  Leaving  the  decision 
to  the  powers  of  heaven,  he  is  said  to  have  thrown  his  vagra,  or 
metal  mace,  into  the  air  in  the  direction  of  Japan,  whither  it  was 
borne  by  divine  means,  and  lodged  in  a  tall  tree  on  the  top  of 
Koya  mountain.  Here  after  his  return  it  was  found  by  the  Daishi, 
and  here  he  built  the  splendid  monastery  of  Koyasan,  which  remains 
to  this  day  the  patriarchal  seat  of  the  Shingon  sect  in  Japan. 

"  This  for  the  world,  as  for  Japan."  —  p.  28. 

The  Archbishop  Keitoku  believed  that  the  Western  spirit  was 
nearly  ripe  to  receive  the  lofty  doctrine  which  Eastern  guardians 
have  preserved  for  its  precious  legacy. 

"  Expansive  self-willed  personality."  —  p.  29. 

It  will  be  perceived  that  I  oppose  personality,  the  self-centred 
and  self-originated  will  of  an  incarnate  man,  to  individuality,  the 
unconscious  strength  and  freedom  of  an  intelligence  immersed  in 
the  divinity  of  its  work.  One  is  peculiar  through  the  abstract 
isolation  of  subjectivity  ;  the  other  is  peculiar  through  the  infinite 
fulness  of  the  well  of  Spirit  whence  it  flows. 

"  O  self-fed  spring  of  thought."  —  p.  33. 

The  following  passage  personifies  the  round  of  the  sciences  in 
terms  of  their  characteristic  work.  Evolved  in  self-expansion,  they 
yet  build  compensating  structures  of  world-wide  toleration. 

"  Before  the  judges  of  Manwantaras."  —  p.  34. 

A  Manwantara  is  the  immense  total  period  of  bloom  in  a  mani- 
fested universe. 


NOTES.  213 

"  Holding  the  poisoned  cup  to  Mongol  lips."  —  p.  35. 

I  refer  to  the  opium  trade  with  China.  After  all,  it  is  the  selfish 
expansiveness  of  commerce,  rather  than  warfare  or  science,  which 
discharges  the  decreed  function  of  bearing  the  West  back  into  the 
bosom  of  the  East.  It  is  the  last  service  of  the  explosive  life  of 
competition. 

"  See  in  last  glimpse  how  unchecked  years  condense 
The  forces  of  destruction."  —  p.  35. 

I  conceived  the  tragic  incident  of  the  storming  of  the  Summer 
Palace  at  Peking  to  typify  the  central  irony  of  the  situation  —  the 
knights  of  the  West  in  blind  ignorance  smiting  the  very  princess  of 
the  East  whom  they  were  destined  to  espouse. 

"O  spirit  of  Genghis  Khan."  — p.  40. 

It  should  be  noted  that  the  excesses  of  Western  custom  introduced 
into  Tokio  society  previous  to  the  year  1888  are  now  rapidly  on  the 
wane.  The  picture  of  contradictions  which  I  witnessed  is  not  over- 
drawn. We  may  be  thankful  that  the  era  of  confusion  is  already 
melting  away  into  that  of  reconstruction. 

"  And  here  come  art  students  with  honors."  —  p.  41. 

For  years  in  a  government  university,  Japanese  artists  were  taught 
the  technique  of  Western  painting,  sculpture,  and  architecture  by 
European  professors.  For  the  time,  native  "  barbarian  "  arts  were 
despised  and  neglected.  The  absurdities  of  the  hybrid  system  of 
teaching  drawing  in  Japanese  public  schools  cannot  be  exaggerated. 
But  these  are  now  things  of  the  past. 

"  And  Roshi  who  looks  at  the  cracks 
On  terrapins'  backs."  — p.  41. 

Roshi  (the  Japanese  pronunciation  of  Laotse)  was  the  Plato  of 
China,  whose  idealistic  system  later  Taoist  followers  have  reduced 
to  a  species  of  divination  and  magic. 


214  NOTES. 

"Why,  they  blush  as  they  think  of  the  foxes."  —  p.  41. 

Foxes  in  Japan  were  believed  to  be  at  times  the  incarnation  of 
mischievous  elemental  spirits. 

"  Let  thy  heel  with  diamond  lightning 
Blast  the  eyelids  of  the  Beast."  — p.  52. 

Here  I  refer  to  the  forms  of  the  archangels  mentioned  in  a  pre- 
vious note.  The  vagra,  or  mace,  also  spoken  of,  has  its  Chinese 
name  sometimes  translated  by  the  word  "  diamond."  Here  the 
diamond,  in  its  hardness  and  concentration  of  ray,  may  symbolically 
express  the  spiritual  potency  of  the  instrument. 

"THE  WOOD  DOVE."— p.  81. 

The  refrain  of  this  poem  attempts  to  render  the  peculiar  pathetic 
rhythm  of  the  oriental  wood  dove's  note,  which  breaks  off  at  last  in 
the  midst  of  a  measure. 


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